


open the door, to another door

by elleskandal



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Miya Osamu, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn, if i clown on osamu will you like him as much as atsumu, it’s both funny and mildly angsty and fluffy, it’s not as sad as you think it is, osamu is still atsumu’s brother he’s just as much of an idiot but in a different way, what happens when you take the angst of a hanahaki but the fun and pining of fake dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleskandal/pseuds/elleskandal
Summary: “Think ‘bout it. Ya’d get to spy on Bokuto. Maybe even make ‘em a lil jealous, showerin’ me with all the affection yer used to giving ‘em,” Osamu leaned forward.Keiji coughed, pulling a single petal out of his mouth, which he placed on the corner of his plate, a reminder to them both of its significance. At the sight, Osamu felt a little jealous and at the same time, mildly guilty that he said that, that he resorted to such a tactic, that he caused such pain. He knew the feeling all too well. He grimaced.(excerpt from chapter 2)---Or in other words, Osaaka Hanahaki Fake Dating, with side Atsusuna, and unrequited Bokuaka / Osasuna.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 76
Kudos: 304
Collections: Osaaka Week 2020





	1. walk, but in a garden

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is named after lyrics from ‘door’ by caroline polachek, while the chapter is named after the song by Llusion. Chapter titles may be based on songs even if the songs don’t have much to do with the actual contents of the chapter… just because I liked how the names fit. Some contents may actually fit though, I guess you’ll have to listen to find out. I do have a playlist to go with this fic which I'll share towards the end of the week. :) I'll be releasing a chapter just about each day of Osaaka Week (2020) to correspond with tier 3 prompts. 
> 
> I want to thank [Minty](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/feints) for being an amazing beta since I began concepting this fic back in early July. From going to a Twitter thread idea to an outline to this monster, I thank you for being there for ideas, editing, and cheerleading. 
> 
> tw: alcohol (mild consumption), blood (hanahaki is a little bloody, sorry!), anxiety 
> 
> \---
> 
> osaaka week -- day two, tier three 
> 
> As it has been said:  
> Love and a cough  
> cannot be concealed.  
> Even a small cough.  
> Even a small love
> 
> (From "Small Wire” by Anne Sexton)

Cold concrete pressed against Miya Osamu’s palm as he leaned against the side of his Tokyo restaurant in the alley, peering down at the mess of flowers that littered the ground. Gardenia petals, blood, and roots covered the pavement. He sought a haggard breath, to fill the hollow space the garden had left behind in his chest. The cool air burned as he sucked in, lips cracking from the effort of heaving and the dry air that surrounded them. 

He couldn’t go back inside, not yet. This happened almost every time. He thought it’d change, or that he’d learn by now, but it hadn’t and he didn’t. A cycle, much like the ones that continued growing in his chest for the past eight years, give or take, with no hope for reprieve. He continued to engage in unhealthy behavior feeding his emotions and he’d paid the price. 

He turned around leaning his back against the wall to let the cool night breeze wash over him in hopes that he’d lose some feeling in his body. Maybe he’d go numb if he stayed out here -- his old dri-fit under a branded company t-shirt was not going to keep him warm enough. And yet, that’s all he’s ever wanted was to be numb to the effects of love, Hanahaki Disease, and the unrequitedness of it all, but he was never afforded the privilege. Instead, he’d settle for his body going numb instead. He leaned his head back on to the cold wall, closing his eyes, blowing visible heat from his mouth, trying to dispel the taste of iron as he licked his lips. 

As common as unrequited love might have been, it was still not the most respectable emotion to share; those afflicted were often pitied, preyed upon with quick-fix scams, or worse, shoved into matchmaking schemes. It’s why many hid their disease, sharing it only with a select few. It’s why he was surprised to find himself face-to-face with someone else now throwing up pale yellow petals in his alley. 

Someone in a tan overcoat and maroon scarf, phone in hand, hunched over, grabbing at his chest and neck, expelling a mess of blood-streaked petals, hacking and gasping for air. For as romantic as the media made Hanahaki sound, it sure was a messy affair. The beautiful man stood up straight, having caught the eye of Osamu, who turned his head to observe the display, hidden only so well from the main street, as the light from the ally shone on him.

They made eye contact as the man pulled a stray petal from his mouth with a face, wiping his lips from any further debris. Osamu knew the feeling all too well, the feeling of disgust at one’s self, self-pity, and anxiety around your self-worth. He could read it in the man, in Akaashi Keiji's expression. In his best customer’s face. In his friend’s grimace. 

As all of those emotions registered, a new one hit -- Keiji’s eyes grew bigger as he stepped back. Brief panic now flashed on his face before he readjusted his glasses. They stared at one another. 

“Onigiri for yer thoughts?” Osamu finally spoke up, still leaning against the alley wall. 

Clearly still unenthused about being caught, not looking to divulge much more of his emotions, he huffed, “Anything to get the taste out of my mouth, I guess.”

“Aw, I thought ya actually liked my cookin’,” the chef jeered at him with a smile on his face. 

“I wouldn’t keep coming back here if I didn’t. Especially now, it’s better than _this_.” He flicked the petal at Osamu. The weariness on his face showed; he was clearly too tired to put up a front. “I sure haven’t made it any easier on myself.” He looked at the phone in his hand briefly and shoved it back into his pocket. 

“Looks like we have somethin’ in common,” he kicked at the ground, showing his own set of sepals, petals, stems, leaves, and roots splayed in a bloody, tangled mess by his feet, giving Keiji cause to raise his eyebrows. Opening the backdoor to his restaurant, Onigiri Miya, without another word, Osamu gestured his number one customer into the kitchen of his shop, following closely behind.

This late near closing time, the shop was empty and silent, except for commentary coming from a phone propped up behind the counter playing the EJP RAIJIN - Japan Railway Warriors game as loud as it would go. 

Taking his place at the counter, Keiji pulled out his phone, avoiding their usual small talk. Osamu looked at him as he washed up from his own incident and began to work on the onigiri that he knew Keiji liked. He gave his friend looks mixed with pity and empathy, emotions he would have hated to receive from others if he hadn’t done such a damn good job of hiding his disease; and yet, he gave them anyway because he knew what he was going through. 8 years? Had it been that long? Probably longer.

Osamu was never one who was good at understanding emotions and when they were appropriate to display though. It was one of the reasons he was in this whole mess, why he could never showcase his feelings -- quite unlike his brother who expressed too many emotions too often. It’s why when it came to love, that idiot fell hard and fast. Osamu hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. Until it was right under his nose. Until he had walked in on it. It made him nauseated… He even threw up. He thought it was because seeing Atsumu in that position was just _really_ disgusting -- who really wants to see their twin fucking someone? But then when he really _saw_ it, when he really _looked_ at the vomit, he saw it wasn’t even really vomit at all. 

He had been coughing; it felt like vomit from the way it left his throat torn up, a sensation similar to bile at the back of his tongue, accompanied by the taste of iron. It was flowers, sepals, and leaves having ejected themselves from his body. Blood and mucus laid thick over the whole mess that had been knotting in his chest unbeknownst to him, building up tightly until he could no longer contain it. He had been slowly sowing a garden of emotions, as strong and sweet as the flower they came from for Suna Rintarou. 

“Myaa-sam, how do you keep your kitchen clean with a condition like yours?” Keiji asked as Osamu handed over a plate of onigiri, setting his phone next to his placemat, a video of the MSBY Black Jackals’ best plays paused on the screen. He used the hot towel Osamu had previously set for him, cleaning his hands of the flower filth, pausing to wipe his mouth as well. 

“I do just fine, ‘Kaashi-kun. There’s a reason that back door is so close.” He winked. Keiji hummed in response, satisfied with the answer, picking up his onigiri with a hungry look in his eye. If Osamu didn’t know any better, he’d say Keiji’s unrequited love was for the food in front of him based on that look in his eye, but he did know better. He had seen the man look at someone else with a similar hunger as he followed their team across the country, slinging his onigiri since he had a partnership with said team to follow them on the road. He knew the look in his eyes was reserved for the Black Jackal’s Bokuto Koutarou, and that’s when he noticed the frame that the video Keiji had on his phone was paused on. 

It seemed like neither one of them could keep from using their phones against their hearts. 

-🍙- 

“How’d ya get it?” Ever since Osamu saw the smattering of flowers in the alleyway weeks back, he’d been curious. The question just popped out of his mouth without thinking. 

“Hmm?” Keiji’s mouth was stuffed with pickles to finish off his meal. Osamu had a habit of probing him when his mouth was full. 

“Yer disease, what’s the story? How’d it start?” 

“That’s a bit personal, Myaa-sam. Don’t you think?” His lips drew into a straight line as he dapped his napkin at their corner. 

“Well, I don’t have anyone else to talk to ‘bout it. I’ll tell ya mine if you tell me yers.” He leaned over the counter as he had come to do during their evening discussions, arms crossed looking up under the brim of his hat as Keiji wiped his mouth and clasped his hands in front of himself, cocking his head to the side. 

“Okay, then. Let’s hear yours,” he peered through his glasses, awaiting a response. 

Osamu immediately regretted bringing up the topic as his chest tightened and throat loosened to make room for an ejection. He slowly breathed through his nose. He didn’t want to run outside, not now. He also didn’t think he had a full garden to unload. His suppressant cycle was nearly complete, so he just had to ride out the feeling his body gave him. 

He thumped at his chest to ease the discomfort and told his friend the story. He had never regretted staying late to practice before. How they had not noticed he hadn't left with the others was beyond him, but there he was, walking into the showers getting an image seared into his mind forever. It would be one that he could conjure at almost any moment that would instantly bring his gardenias to bloom, sucking up oxygen, creating ragged breaths. 

Before either his brother or Rintarou could see him, he backed out of the room, stumbling back into the locker room, bracing himself against the metal capsules as a dizziness took over him and he gasped for the first time in what would be years of emphysematous attacks. Right there, on the floor, the thumping he had experienced in his chest for weeks laid barren. It told him what he himself hadn’t fully realized; it showcased his emotions better than he had understood. It wasn’t just random chest pains; it wasn’t just him losing his breath a lot more easily because he was practicing extra hard to impress Rin, nor were Rin’s jokes extra funny recently, nor had he unknowingly developed asthma. It all made sense as he stared down at the flowers. He guessed it had happened around the time he started calling him Rin in his head instead of Suna.

He told Keiji how looking up from the flowery mess he was met with the dark eyes of Aran Ojiro returning to the locker room to grab something he forgot. The heaving and chest aching was unavoidable; his feelings advertised across the locker room floor. The silence between them was palpable for several moments until it was broken by Atsumu and Rin stumbling out of the showers together. Atsumu punched Rin in the arm playfully, faces red, dewy, and filled with laughter. 

Aran read the panic on Osamu’s face; he knew everything he needed to know in the flinch that rippled through the then grey-haired twin as he snapped back around after being startled by their entrance. The two boys dripping wet stopped in their tracks when they saw the other two. 

Osamu remembered exactly how it happened. 

_“‘Samu, didn’t ‘spect ya here,” Atsumu nervously chuckled before catching sight of the mess on the floor. It was Rin who saw it first, putting his hand on Atsumu’s arm to stop him from going any further._

_“We shouldn’t intrude,” Rin responded looking at the heap of growth and blood as if they were an admission between Osamu and Aran that needed to be sorted out._

_“It’s --” Osamu tried to begin before Aran cut him off._

_“Sorry, y’all. I’ll clean up my mess. Don’t worry about us.” Aran waved the two off, who quickly threw on their clothes in the next aisle over and headed out, eyeing the two apprehensively._

_“Why?” Osamu turned to him awkwardly once they were gone._

_“I knew if it was me, they wouldn’t say anythin',” Aran smiled at him sympathetically. For that, Osamu was more grateful than Aran would ever know. Or maybe he did know._

“And Atsumu never found out?” Keiji interjected as Osamu recounted the tale to him.

“I don’t know how, but no. I think the idiot was too blinded by love to be aware of anythin’ other than what was right in front of ‘em. Since it was so early on, the suppressants helped more than they do now. Aran helped me sneak off to the clinic to get some.” 

Keiji nodded. As another long-term Hanahaki sufferer, he knew the importance of medication for Hanahaki -- it’s what had decreased symptoms and the disease’s fatality rate in the last several decades. The invention of root suppressants and lung tissue restoration pills dramatically cut back on deaths by decreasing the infestation’s effects and increasing the lung’s ability to withstand what would ultimately manifest. Very few people with long-term symptoms opted not to take the pills. Because of their invention, Hanahaki Disease was now seen more as an inconvenience to be pitied and thus a shame to hide rather than the romanticized affair that could bring two people together. Rather, it was a curse. 

Of course, there was still media that glamorized the concept of disease by unrequited love, mostly for romantic comedies. Osamu had never been the type to indulge in these types of films, but some people liked them, or in the least were fascinated by the concept of the disease and how it affected interpersonal relationships. It had become its own cult type of content that those with and without the disease alike consumed. 

“You’re lucky you had someone,” Keiji looked down at his hands as he spoke. “I was out at a coffee shop when I saw Bokuto-san with Shirofuku-san. It was nothing as… explicit as what you had to deal with. But I saw them hold hands and kiss.” He explained how he too got nauseated and coughed up flowers in the Barlux bathroom, how they had always been yellow camellias. He tortured himself by giving them additional meaning; they reminded him of Bokuto’s eyes, mocking him as he stared down at the swirling mess, mirroring his emotions, knotted and complicated. And yet, he loved his flowers nonetheless because of what they represented. 

It was that day that made Keiji believe that he could never divulge his feelings, made him accept he would always be pining. Because that day he convinced himself he would never have his feelings fulfilled because his best friend was straight. He never had the courage after that point to tell him, even after he and Yukie broke up when they graduated. It was this thought, this notion that Bokuto was straight, that made him feel so secure in not confessing. It comforted him through his longing, nursed him through the pain. 

It was only when Bokuto joined V.League that Keiji came to the realization that he may have made a mistake. By then, it was too late. Keiji explained that soon after joining the League, Bokuto ranted to him about a sexual awakening that he absolutely did not want to hear about. He _really_ did not want to hear about it because it was an explanation about how Bokuto had ended up settling down with someone... with a man. 

And now, now Bokuto was _so_ happy. Keiji could never disrupt that happiness. He guiltily hoped that maybe one day there would be space for him, in ways other than friendship would allow. But for the time being, he was stuck watching videos of the volleyball player’s best plays of 180° shots over the net from behind his back, streaming every game, or going to the matches when his work schedule allowed. The ironic thing was that it pained him even more to watch the games because Bokuto played on the same team as his boyfriend. 

-🍙- 

When Keiji could get away from work, especially for games that were in Tokyo, he’d take the time to see MSBY play. It was a great way to embrace his old hobby, stay in touch with old friends, and blow off steam, not to mention he liked to have an excuse to see Bokuto in person. That’s how he and Osamu found themselves peering at the court together next to the Onigiri Miya food cart as the Black Jackals faced off against the Tachibana Red Falcons. 

“Ya pay for a courtside seat and then come stand up here with me. It’s almost like ya don’t wanna see the game, ‘Kaashi-kun,” Osamu teased. 

Keiji sighed, turning away from the court. “It gets a bit much sometimes. There’s only so much I can take at a time.” 

“Oh? Watchin’ ‘em together?” He dropped the teasing and offered a conciliatory onigiri which Keiji gladly took with barely an upturn of his lips and a whisper of a thank you. 

“Yeah,” he looked wistfully away, taking shallow breaths, ones Osamu recognized all too well. “I never thought he’d fall for someone like that. They’re so different.” He bit into his onigiri. 

Osamu nodded watching the game, waiting to let Keiji know if anything of note happened while he gathered himself together. Just the usual. He noted a point here or there, but didn’t point out when it was Bokuto who scored. He knew, the crowd told him. He didn’t need to turn around to hear the piled on praise and see the shared looks between teammates, lovers. 

Keiji balled up the now empty onigiri wrapper and threw it away, turning back to the game. 

“So why do ya come if ya don’t wanna watch? Wouldn’t it be easier not to?” 

“Not everything in life is easy, Myaa-sam,” was all he said in response. He kept watching from next to Osamu for a bit before he continued. “I come to support him. Just like I support him in his relationship. It’s not easy, but I do it because it makes him happy.” 

Osamu hummed in understanding. He wasn’t about to stand in the way of his brother’s happiness, even if it would make himself happy. It’s one of the reasons why he was here, behind the scenes. He couldn’t play volleyball anymore, not with his condition. But Atsumu didn’t need to know that. He just thought that Osamu was following his dream. He wondered if that’s why Keiji was no longer playing. A subject for another day.

“That’s sad, ‘Kaashi-kun, putting his happiness above yers.” 

“Look who’s talking,” Keiji’s eyes never left the court, but he felt his tone. 

“Yer wrong there. I try not to willin’ly be ‘round them together for my own happiness. What torture.” Osamu thought back to how he had always tried to avoid Atsumu and Rin together unless he’d been forced to attend family functions. Individually, their relationships were alright, but when you distance yourself like that, they’re bound to suffer. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Keiji shot back just short of venomously. “We’re friends. Some things are more important.” 

“How’s that for ya, being friends with him and his boyfriend?” The crowd went wild just as Sakusa Kiyoomi hit a service ace. Keiji stiffened at both the crowd and the question. 

“I get to see him happy,” he rubbed on his chest unconsciously as he spoke, as if to temper the pain and soothe himself. “That’s what matters.”

“That’s it?” Osamu couldn’t help but feel mildly jealous for some reason. 

“There’s something that Sakusa can provide him that I cannot. They bring out the best in one another and I respect that. He softened Bokuto’s self-consciousness in a way I never was able to, and increased his confidence. Bokuto made Sakusa more comfortable in his own skin, pushing his boundaries in a healthy way. Their impact upon one another is undeniable.” He paused to think, then continued, “You haven’t seen it with Suna? Love changes a person, you know.”

“I -- I try not to spend too much time thinkin’ ‘bout my brother’s love life. I thought maybe it’d make it hurt less. Maybe these feelin’s would go away. But they didn’t, and here I am. So yer right. I don’t understand.” Keiji looked at him with pity. Those dazzling green eyes struck him with more than just their sympathy -- Osamu saw lattices of leaves behind them, as if Hanahaki was all he saw, eliciting his own empathy and something more. He saw a new kind of beauty there that he hadn’t seen before, one based on his sheer knowledge and emotional intelligence, something that Osamu lacked... 

Just like Osamu, Keiji nurtured this garden of his, and grew new plants each cycle his love continued. Just like Osamu, he watched his love fall for another, unable to turn his back on them, forced to bear witness to their happiness. There were so many parallels between the two, and yet the differences separated the two by miles. 

Osamu never held out blatant hope like Keiji did. That one teeny, tiny thought Osamu had way back in high school that “well, we got the same face, so at least he finds me attractive, right?” was never confronted or acknowledged. He wasn’t even sure he actually believed the sentiment, but that one fleeting thought that he kept buried deep, deep down haunted his subconscious, eating away at his self-worth as an individual person, distinct from his twin. 

Osamu had a lingering sense that he was only kidding himself, but at least he knew he could pretend and get by with his day. Lying to himself -- even if he obviously tried not to miss streaming an EJP game just to see Rin play when he was already juggling the MSBY schedule -- was better than the alternative, confronting his deep, dark insecurity and resentment that he’s the twin in the shadow of a celebrity volleyball player, the one who wasn’t chosen by the love of his life, the one who actually wasn’t as attractive as the other, despite the fact that they’re goddamn twins. 

On the other hand, Keiji’s hope resided on the surface. He was honest with himself about his feelings for Bokuto, whereas Osamu did everything to bury his, to ignore his shame and insecurities. If he didn’t confront them that meant they didn’t exist, right? 

And yet, both of them seemed to be losing the coping contest. For every ounce of hope that Keiji had, it came with just as much pain and a greenhouse of grief, snaking tendrils through his bronchi. By keeping his feelings in front of himself at all times, he was constantly reminded of his emotions, fueling his dream of hope, creating an ouroboros of unrequited love. Whereas for Osamu, his lack of confrontation with his feelings was what perpetuated his cycle of heartache. 

It was with that subconscious motivation that Keiji bid Osamu adieu. He had to get back to his seat before the next Bokuto Beam.

-🍙- 

“You know, Myaa-sam, your Hanahaki flower says a lot about you.” Keiji wiped his mouth with a napkin, having finished the onigiri served to him at the counter of Onigiri Miya. 

“Oh, yeah. Sounds like readin’ tea leaves to me, ‘Kaashi-kun.” Osamu took the plate from the counter, cleaning up his work station in preparation to close the shop. 

“Well isn’t it ironic then that gardenias, your flower, symbolize a secret love. Couldn’t be more perfect since no one can know you have Hanahaki for your brother’s boyfriend. But tell me more about how the symbolism is fake.” Keiji’s chin jutted out as he crossed his arms. 

“Ya got me there. Then what’s yer flower mean?”

“I was cursed with the yellow camellia,” he sighed. “It’s one of longing. No surprise there.” 

Osamu barked out a laugh, “So melodramatic, ‘Kaashi. Know any fun ones?”

The editor raised an eyebrow, “I’ve heard not all people afflicted are blessed with _flowers_.”

“Oh? But isn’t it _Hanahaki_ , as in _hanakotoba_ , the flower language?”

“Yes, but flowers come from many plants which people don’t typically think of as flowers -- I read about one person who had cacti. The flowers were beautiful but extremely bloody… for obvious reasons. The flowers needed something to attach to and it wasn’t the roots.”

“Ouch.” He grimaced remembering how painful his own gardenias were. He could only imagine the spines of a cactus ripping up his throat. 

“They didn’t live long,” Keiji grimaced. 

“What did it mean?” He leaned over the counter on folded arms to listen more intently now. 

“Lust,” a hint of a smile playing on his lips, one that surprised Osamu, making him think briefly about something he absolutely should not want to do with that mouth. 

“A love built on horniness isn’t gonna last long, for sure,” he shook his head, shaking his dirty thoughts out too. 

“Nope. Then there are those with four-leaf clovers. They symbolize luck. They have the most hope out of anyone with Hanahaki. They’re always hoping their luck will turn in their favor with love. And while they have luck in so many other areas of their lives, it’s almost always never in love. That’s the irony of the four-leaf clover.

And finally, I think the story of the Herb Garden is always odd.”

“Yer kiddin’ me. Someone got herbs? Did they cook with ‘em? Lucky bastards.”

Keiji made a face, “How unsanitary. No, she just got that nickname because she’d take her herb, lavender I believe, and transplant it from her chest into her garden. As far as I heard, they lived and flourished. That’s lavender for you. It means faithful.” He took a breath, staring out into space, thinking, “So you believe in the symbolism behind flowers now, Myaa-sam?”

“It’s interesting for sure, ‘Kaashi-kun. How do you know so much about it?”

“Well, going through it all alone at first, I wanted to know more. I didn’t have anyone other than the doctor to talk to, and even then, I was too scared to go for a while. I researched online a lot. I found resources and communities, books and movies, and more. The more I took in, the more I wanted to know and contribute. It’s why I wanted to be in literature, so I could give back to those who helped provide me so much.” 

“Oh, yer one of those,” Osamu smirked. 

“Excuse me?” Keiji recoiled, not knowing whether to be offended. 

“One of those who’re obsessed with their Hanahaki, who loves it.”

“Of course I love it. Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t you?” He looked genuinely nonplussed. 

Osamu shook his head. Keiji wouldn’t understand him. They were clearly on opposite sides of the spectrum for this discussion. Keiji loved it because of what it symbolized, his love and undying friendship, the community he’s been a part of, and the support he’s received from them over all of these years. He wasn’t the type of person who would let go of it easily. For Osamu, it only reminded him of pain, masked yearning, loneliness, and repression. Outside of Aran at the beginning, he had no one. Until now. 

“This disease isn’t fun, ‘Kaashi. I thought you of all people would get that,” he leaned back from the counter, positioning himself a bit more defensively, crossing his arms. 

“I never said it was fun, but it’s helped shape me into who I am,” Keiji leaned back in his chair mirroring the body language from the restaurateur. 

“And if ya could give it up, would ya? Now that ya are who ya are?” He eased his stance; this wasn’t an argument, but he did feel worked up for some reason. 

“No. Who knows what else I could become. I cherish what it’s given me.” 

“But who knows what ya could become without it,” he cocked his head.

Keiji shook his head solidifying his answer, “And you? You sound so dead set against it. Would you give it up so easily?” He eased back into his chair. 

“I- I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought about his feelings like that. What would he do without his love for Rin? Not watching the EJP RAIJIN every week, not thinking about how his snarky remarks could take Atsumu down in an instant, not wondering if Rin really was the real-life embodiment of a fox god. Would he still resent his brother for having something that he so dearly wanted? He wouldn’t want it anymore then. 

Keiji was right about one thing; this disease did shape him to be who he was today whether he liked it or not. He might not have decided to open this shop without it -- he could have continued playing volleyball. His relationships with Atsumu and Rintarou might be different. How did it affect how he looked at himself? 

It was then that he realized this love, unrequited, really was a _disease_. It had poisoned his mind. It made him resentful, fueled his self-confidence problems, and made him self-conscious by contributing to an inferiority complex he’d never acknowledged. Well, he was acknowledging it now -- the first step towards change is awareness. He didn’t want to grow up any more bitter than he already was. He didn’t want to lose the bet of who would be happiest once they were old to Atsumu. 

And yet, knowing that something’s unhealthy for you wasn’t enough to make you turn against it. He might be aware of certain feelings to some extent, but that didn’t mean he had fully processed them. Osamu could only sigh and rub his face, as they sat in comfortable silence thinking about their predicaments. 

“Thanks, ‘Kaashi-kun.” 

“For what?” 

“Givin’ me things to think about.” 

The pretty smile on Keiji’s face made Osamu’s stomach twist. 

-🍙- 

“Why are ya lookin’ like ya aren’t eatin’, ‘Kaashi-kun?” Osamu peered up just under the brim of his black hat, crafting rice around fish, forming them into perfect triangles.

“I eat,” Keiji mumbled.

Osamu’s mouth twisted. The look he gave him let him know that he did not believe him. “You cook?” He inquired. 

“My cooking skills are on par with a uni student. I have just about as much time as I do skill. I burned a cuppa noodle last week if that tells you anything,” the editor sighed, looking slightly exasperated. 

“So what yer tellin’ me is that you only eat a good meal when yer at Onigiri Miya, huh?” A half-smile crept up the chef’s face. While he liked to be the one to provide his friends sustenance, he did not like the idea that they weren’t enjoying food as they should be. 

“I’ll stop by a konbini too and the office will order us food if we work overtime,” Keiji acted mildly defensive. “Which is often. Thank you.” 

“Konbini,” Osamu scoffed. “That’s all the cheap stuff. Yer better off with me teachin’ ya how to make somethin’ quick and easy.” 

Keiji perked up at that, “You’d teach me to make onigiri?” 

“If I show ya that, you’d never come back here! I can’t lose my best customer.” The chef shook his head with a chuckle under his breath. 

“You know I can barely cook, especially with no time on my hands. Anything I make will always pale in comparison to this palace.” He looked like a puppy, wide-eyed at the prospect of learning a new trick. Osamu found it hard to back down. 

And that’s how he found himself hovering around Keiji, dictating that he spread the rice out over his wet and salted hand, and load it with the filling of his choice. “Now cover it with more rice, and form it with yer other hand.” 

“But it won’t stick,” Keiji frustratingly and awkwardly shifted his hands around the rice, patting the ball. The filling smooshed out the side. 

“Here.” On instinct, Osamu cupped a hand gently around one of Keiji’s, grabbing the rice paddle and adding more to the weak spot with the other hand. “You have to cup it over here, like this.” He then brought about his other hand to demonstrate where to press and how to form the triangular shape, fully encapsulating his hands around Keiji’s. 

He felt the nimble fingers of a former setter, calloused but cared for, and then realized how intimate this was. He was [touching Keiji](https://twitter.com/gingermilks/status/1290952020937945088) without a second thought to his personal space. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and found how close their faces were. Feeling his neck heat at embarrassment, he pulled back behind Keiji’s shoulder again. 

Clearing his throat as his lungs burned, he encouraged his pupil, “Why don’t you try it again with what I just showed you?” 

Laser-focused, Keiji concentrated on the task at hand, tongue slightly sticking out, until he produced one onigiri that would not fall apart. It took three tries. Osamu wondered whether his customers enjoyed watching him as much as he enjoyed watching Keiji make them. 

The sheer joy at creating something he loved was something he hoped he exuded when he cooked -- it was something he could see emanating off Keiji, something that was endearing, alluring. 

-🍙- 

“‘Kaashi, ya know a lot about Hanahaki flowers, right? You’ve done a lotta research.” Osamu placed his friend’s food order in front of him as he asked the question. He did not really want to ask, but his own research had not been too fruitful. 

“Mhm,” Keiji affirmed with a mouth full of fish and rice. 

“Have yer petals ever changed?”

“What do you mean? Did yours change?”

“Uh. Some are from a different flower now.” 

“Hmm. Mine have always been from the yellow camellia, but I’ve heard if your feelings change or mature over time that can happen.” He thought for a second with a pause. More seriously he said, “Like if your love dies, you’ll forever be stuck with red spider lilies.”

“Oh.” Osamu had heard the tales of the red spider lilies. While not many died from Hanahaki anymore due to advances in modern medicine, once you started coughing up red spider lilies, your chances significantly increased, even with the best medicines. Doctors said you could still be “cured” if you opted for the surgery to remove the garden, but many said their feelings were so strong and long-lived, they’d rather die than live without them, giving up those emotions and memories. Many lost their will to live at the point the lilies manifested since their love would never be requited. The thing with many long-term Hanahaki sufferers is that they hold onto some inkling of hope for a requited love, one day, somehow. Once the lilies manifest, however, that hope has been ripped away. 

Few people nowadays opted for surgery since the invention of root suppressants and lung tissue restoration pills, but neither of those could stop the red spider lilies and their toll. For most, it was purely mental. The absence of hope and the object of their affection gone forever meant it was only a matter of time before their body gave up. Others succumbed to the poisonous bulbs of the red spider lilies by the following autumn.

Osamu thought about the new little blue petals mixed amongst the old white gardenias. He had not been quite sure what to make of it at the time and still wasn’t. He was glad it wasn’t the red spider lily in the least. Maybe it was a fluke -- it was just a couple of new petals -- or maybe it could be that his feelings for Rin were evolving. It had been a while, love changes. Especially a love from high school. Maybe this was the beginning of change. 

-🍙-🍙-🍙- 


	2. portions for foxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osamu finds out some very upsetting news and puts into motion a very idiotic plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> osaaka week 2020 -- day three, tier three 
> 
> Sweetheart, you know how to love me  
> The way I like to be loved  
> I’m a lit-up flower that gives warmth to the garden of your life  
> Please don’t leave me as I have the courage to love you back  
> (From “Tú Sí Sabes Quererme” by Natalia Lafourcade)

Meteo Attack, the latest publication from Shonen Vi, was one of the most popular up and coming sports mangas. It was great for Keiji’s career as an editor, but it occasionally got in the way of his ability to make it to Onigiri Miya as often as he wanted to. On Fridays, he tried to venture out to get his rice balls and if he was feeling generous, pick up some for his mangaka, Udai Tenma. 

Today, however, Keiji was not feeling generous. He was feeling overwhelmed since his mangaka had failed to deliver his illustrations until well past his deadline. This meant Keiji would be working overtime to get his edited pages to the publishers in time to meet the printing deadline. So in lieu of coming himself, he sent the artist who had put him in such a predicament to run the errand for him. 

Deep circles recessed Tenma’s face, framed by long, greasy hair. Clearly he was a man who had little sleep; it was a wonder he was able to accomplish any assignments Keiji gave him. 

When Osamu saw the tired mangaka instead of Keiji, he thought he felt mild disappointment in his chest, an emotion that he barely acknowledged -- it felt more like a familiar rumble he knew all too well. 

“Hmmm… that’s weird,” he whispered under his breath as he rubbed his chest with a closed fist, tapping twice before going about making Shonen Vi’s onigiri order. 

-🍙- 

Today, coffee kept Miya Osamu conscious. Shallow breaths allowed him to stay upright. Muscle memory kept him in motion and on task. He could form onigiri in his sleep at this point. And yet, it was lucky his body allowed him to stay afloat in his current situation because his brain wasn’t doing him any favors. His comprehension of what he said and what was talked about that evening between him and Keiji may have been non-existent. 

Primed to be easily distracted, minor details caught his eye. They were tantamount to torture. He was distracted by everything Keiji did, not for any reason other than the pure, unadulterated fact that Akaashi Keiji was just so damn distractingly pretty. Why hadn't he noticed sooner?

Case in point, Osamu’s attention was drawn to the mundane, to every minute detail that he previously overlooked without a second glance that he now drunk in with fervor, allowing his other senses to dull in return. He was drawn to the way his hair wisps moved with the fan. The way the corner of his lips turned up when onigiri were placed in front of him. The flecks of moss in the green of his eyes. The rice he got stuck to his lip that he had to wipe off. The way his throat moved when he drank water. How his tongue crested his lips seeking every bit of flavor his food departed. 

_ His lips. God, those lips.  _ He felt his face heat. What was he thinking? What was Keiji saying right now? Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe? 

Keiji had always been pleasing to the eye, but now it was like Osamu was wearing rose-colored glasses. The man had suddenly become even more appealing, so much so that Osamu’s breath hitched in his throat as the setting sun silhouetted the editor with a halo of orange light before his eyes adjusted and he was gone. 

Suddenly, the room was reeling. It was harder to breathe as he felt a familiar feeling blossom within, lacing its way through his lungs. It was a softer feeling, but the pressure was building in his chest the same. His vision clouded and he lost his balance. Grasping at the counter, he let the lightheadedness pass before stumbling towards the alley door. Barely a pace outside and the barking cough trembled through his body. His lungs spewed their mess of blood, roots, leaves, and buds, some blossomed, some not. 

The majority of his blossomed petals were the white gardenias, but he noticed that there were now two different types of buds and two different types of petals, intermingled. The newer blossoms were much smaller than his original flowers; they were the same tiny blue salver-shaped petals he had noticed in one of his last cough spells. There were more of them than last time. A lot more. 

What had he been doing during his last cough spell and now that had reminded him of Rin? Nothing, right? The first time Keiji had just left after making onigiri together, and this time... This really had nothing to do with --  _ oh.  _ Keiji. 

“Shit.” He wiped the blood from the side of his mouth. But he was still coughing up gardenias… Could someone really love two people? How could he be so fucked? He loved two people and two people didn’t love him back. Maybe Atsumu was right; he’d never be the happier twin.

Osamu closed early that day. 

-🍙- 

It came to the one game of the season that Osamu dreaded and was most excited for, the game that he could watch Rin in person, the EJP RAIJIN - MSBY Black Jackals game. Since he had been following the Jackals, it was the one time he would always get to see Rin and Atsumu play against one another. 

On the one hand, he always got pangs of yearning through his chest as he spoke to Rin alone every year as he set up his food cart -- the volleyball player always stopped by before the match; on the other, he had to watch the competitive nature of the couple he envied most come to life in a whole new way across the net from one another. 

His brother and his first love eye fucked each other between sets, playfully taunting and jeering. They even slipped in an innuendo or two. In high school, Rin usually kept these types of thoughts to himself, but something about being with Atsumu brought his snarky remarks to light and his competitive nature surfaced. Whatever changed within him, the crowd ate it up -- it was often V.League’s most streamed game. Not just for him and Atsumu’s interactions, but their teammates’. 

Sakusa’s backlash to their charades was comical in-and-of itself. “Disgusting,” he’d often remark. Bokuto would tease them, making up little songs like “Tsum Tsum and Rin Rin sitting in a tree…” Komori Motoya did everything in his power to make Atsumu’s life specifically harder, saving balls the setter sent over -- every time it worked, he and Rin were sure to rub it in Atsumu’s face. 

Watching the display always made it hard to breathe, so Osamu opted to focus on his stand more often than not, forming onigiri, cleaning the counter, tidying the side dishes, counting the cash, and other tiny tasks he would busy himself with. Toward the end of the fifth set (with the game score being 2-2), food service died down as the game became more enthralling. Osamu had already taken care of a lot of the wrap-up duties as he was constantly in motion throughout the match; his hired hand for the event found themself with little to do. So he did what any good boss does, he let them go early with full pay because he’s a good guy. It definitely was not to avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere his pacing was creating. Definitely not. 

Finally, MSBY overtook the EJP. Atsumu raised his fist silently after scoring the last point and his teammates piled on him. He smiled at his boyfriend who smiled back. This was all a part of the game, winning and losing. They had been trading wins and losses over the years and always tried their best to beat the other, it’s what made it fun. During the games, they always went hard on the taunts, but they were never sore winners or losers. 

As the players lined up and shook hands, the commentators asked everyone to wait in their seats, as one of the players had an announcement he would like to make. Osamu’s ears pricked, as this was not a common occurrence at these games, causing him to spin slowly to eye the court. His stomach dropped when Rin broke from the line and took the microphone. 

“As many of you know, I have been in a relationship with Miya Atsumu since high school and while he may be a complete idiot—” 

“Hey! We just beat ya!” 

“He’s my idiot.” The stands awwed. “Which is why, even though we lost today, I was hoping he would make me a winner in one way or another. Miya Atsumu, will you marry me?” The announcer leaned over and handed him a box, which he opened to reveal a ring. 

“Are ya kiddin’ me?” Atsumu’s mouth laid open wide, gaping with shock. Osamu’s hung just as wide across the arena. The crowd screamed for his response. Once Atsumu realized he hadn’t answered, he looked around and put his arm up, as if he was serving, to quiet them. They complied and the stadium fell quiet waiting for his answer. 

“I can’t believe ya beat me to it. Of course, I’ll marry ya!” Atsumu jumped on Suna. The crowd went wild. Osamu turned away, not wanting to see the rest of the interactions. 

His vision blurred as he coughed up more gardenias than he had in years into the foodservice container he had just cleaned for the second time in a row to busy his hands. The last time he had remembered coughing up this much was when he had walked in on the two of them in the locker room that first time. 

Luckily, everyone was too enthralled in the proposal to even notice him expelling flowers from his chest. During the smallest moment of reprieve, before he could draw suspicion, he picked up the pan and hastily walked to the bathroom. His vision blurred and the breaths he drew seared, only allowing for shallow, choppy gasps. 

He had thought his rooting cycle had not begun yet. He had hoped the suppression meds would last longer; but with witnessing a spectacle like that, he’s not surprised his body gave up early. His chest ached, his lungs burned, his throat was sore, his head pounded, his lips were ripped open. He would likely have to double up on his lung restoration pills based on how much tissue, wrapped beneath tendrils of roots, he had just ejected. 

He rinsed his mouth out, taking an extra moment to gargle since this had been a particularly bad episode. That usually helped him clear all the foreign tastes from his mouth. Then he pulled out the healing chapstick he had learned to keep on him for moments like this and applied it to his lips. They tingled, reminding him of the torture that he’d been going through for the last 8 years, and now the torture that would be forever a part of his life, a part of his family. This was hell. He was living in hell. He splashed water on his face before he decided to leave. 

When he emerged, having dumped the tray of his emotions exposed, he found Keiji leaning on his food cart, as the rest of the patrons filed out of the arena. 

“Anything you want to talk about?” The pretty former Fukurōdani setter leaned against his food cart. 

“Nope.” For good measure, Osamu wiped his face when he set down the food service pan, a detail that didn’t elude Keiji.

“Want to grab a drink then?” His friend straightened and adjusted his glasses. 

He looked up, thought a second about how he probably shouldn’t be alone or really how he didn’t want to be alone, and who was offering but had to ask, “Don’t you have some Fukurōdani people to see?” He knew they always came out to see Bokuto and Washio play and then had a reunion after -- this wasn't just an Inarizaki reunion game. 

Keiji waved his hand, “I’ll see them another time.” 

Osamu’s chest rumbled silently to himself. His throat could not take any more of this tonight, but lucky for him, the garden stayed put. For now. 

After packing up the food cart, the two settled into a nearby izakaya, grabbing beers and snacks, the former of which was promptly downed. 

“You should probably text them congratulations. They know you were there,” Keiji said after he rolled edamame through his teeth, pulling the beans from the husk. How he made the process look elegant was beyond Osamu. 

Osamu groaned. “They don’t  _ know _ I saw it.” His response earned a knowing look from Keiji who was fiddling with more of the salted pods. “Ugh, yer right. Fine.” 

**better twin >> annoying assholes** [22:34]: Congrats!!

Showing the message to Keiji, he gets a “Is that the best you can do?” from between sips of beer. So he adds: 

**better twin >> annoying assholes** [22:35]: Welcome to the family, Sunarin! 

It hurt him to add this. He had wanted to add him to the family in a different way. He thought about writing something snarky like, “Now I’m going to have two times the asshole to deal with at reunions,” but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wasn’t drunk enough, or maybe he hadn’t come to terms with his feelings yet. It’s ironic since he’d had them for so long. 

His chest stirred as he looked down at the texts; it tightened. All he could do was be pseudo-supportive for now. Anything else was too exhausting. Even this was too much.

He received a pingback within minutes from Atsumu. Osamu groaned and showed Keiji the screen. 

**annoying twin** [22:37]: Rin says thanks!! We’re gonna have so much fun plannin this. Especially because you’re gonna be my best man!

**better twin** [22:38]: That's not a thing in Japan. 

**annoying twin** [22:39]: We’re gay. We’re havin a Western weddin. It’s a thing if I say it’s a thing, Best Man. ;) 

**better twin** [22:40]: And ya want me? Why not Kita-san? Or Bokkun? 

**annoying twin** [22:41]: When else will I get a free pass to boss ya around? >.<

“Fuck,” Osamu groaned into his beer as he showed the rest of the text chain to his friend. “What did I expect? Everything’s always a spectacle with him.”

Keiji hummed in response, “You can say no.” 

“No, I can’t. What would be my excuse? I’d get so much shit from my family.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Keiji looked at him with sympathy as he hung his head. His sympathy extended beyond the look; he then patted and rubbed Osamu’s shoulder. 

As much as he had coughed up earlier, the tendrils had grown quickly, weaving their way through his windpipes. The proposal, the texts, being here, with him. Thinking about all of them. Sunarin. Atsumu. Keiji. As he drank his beer he had to pretend to choke on it; in reality, he coughed from the deep rumbling in his chest as roots took hold in his lungs, spreading from his heart, at Keiji’s touch. 

“Slow down. We have all night.” He began to pat him on the back to help, but it was having the opposite effect. 

“Hmm,” Osamu pounded on his chest with his fist and cleared his throat. “I guess we do.” 

As he had to endure the pain of one love unrequited, another was building within him. Maybe if he spent enough time here with this one, no — he couldn’t think that way. That’s not how things seemed to go for him. He downed the rest of his drink and ordered another despite Keiji’s protests. Maybe one more would help him settle the growth for the evening, numb the pain. 

Keiji stayed with him the rest of the night, for better or for worse. 

-🍙- 

“Kaashi-kun, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what ya asked me.” 

Keiji cocked his head to the side, giving a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye, to his friend who slid into the seat next to him. Keiji gesture for Osamu to continue. 

“...whether I’d give up the flowers for Suna.” 

“And?” Keiji says between bites. 

“I’m considerin’ it.” Osamu had never had anyone to talk to about whether he should or shouldn’t remove them. Aran mostly stayed out of his business but asked how he was doing every once in a while. He never wanted to know specifics -- after the first time, the blood made him a little woozy, so he said he’d rather not discuss it in depth. So the only person he could really discuss it was with Keiji. 

“Why now?” His lips wrapped around the onigiri; Osamu stared. Keiji looked at him before taking a bite of his food. Did Keiji suddenly start eating in slow motion? 

Osamu paused, distracted before answering, “Well, they’re gettin’ married. Just doesn’t seem right to hold on any longer. Some days I just wanna forget, but it hurts to think about lettin’ go of so many memories.”

Even though he’d never get the surgery, Keiji understood because he truly did want the pain to go away too. It’s something he’s contemplated too, fantasized about, but ultimately he’s loved too much to seriously entertain the idea. “I understand,” he said with a small, reassuring smile that masked his inner turmoil. 

Mental exhaustion overtook him; years of enduring the pain of Hanahaki, with his heart fighting his body fighting two halves of his mind made him susceptible to Osamu’s ruminations. Fantasizing about the idea with a sigh, Keiji lolled his head onto Osamu’s shoulder. Osamu looked at him surprised for a moment, but then acted on instinct, wrapping his arm around Keiji’s back, carding his hand through Keiji’s hair to comfort him, giving little scratches as he went. 

Keiji closed his eyes, letting Osamu’s fingers intertwine with his hair, until he fully realized what was happening. A blush bloomed over his face then his eyes shot open. He slowly lifted his head and cleared his throat. Osamu let his fingers fall, slowly disentangling them from the messy black locks they ached to touch again. 

Osamu’s chest burned as he stood up. “Can I get ya some onigiri to go?”

-🍙- 

**annoying twin** [15:47]: SAMU HAVE YA HEARD OF A STAG PARTY

**better twin** [15:49]: Uh. No. What?

**annoying twin** [15:50]: Bachelor party?? Barnes was callin em stag parties tho. 

**better twin** [15:55]: Oh. Yeah. I’ve seen em in movies. 

**annoying twin** [15:56]: You know who plans em, right???

**better twin** [15:59]: Uh.

**annoying twin** [16:02]: THE BEST MAN. Will ya plan one for me Samu? Please please please pls pls plsssss. 

**better twin** [16:12]: What kind of stuff are ya lookin to do at the party?

**annoying twin** [16:13]: idk Samu. I’ve never done this before!

**better twin** [16:14]: And I have? 

**annoying twin** [16:16]: Just plan me somethin fun! PLEEEEEAAASSSSSSE.

**better twin** [16:20]: I hate you. Send me the guest list.

Osamu groaned, hitting his head on his desk. Against his better judgment, he searched for bachelor party ideas on Noogle. He hated that he felt obligated to do this. 

-🍙- 

“It’s torture I tell ya.” Osamu let out a sigh as he served Keiji his food. His favorite customer’s quizzical look was enough for him to explain. “Bein’ Tsumu’s Best Man. He wants me to plan his bachelor party. Gross.” 

“I don’t know. They can be fun.” Keiji shrugged and bit into his salmon onigiri. 

Osamu gaped, “You’ve been to one!” 

Keiji nodded as he chewed and then spoke, “Friend from one of my writing circles. He married a girl from the States, so they had a Western wedding. His brother-in-law planned it. I had an enjoyable time.”

“You hafta tell me ‘bout it. If ya let me pick yer brain, I’ll make ya dinner.” 

“You make me dinner all the time, Myaa-sam.” He gestured at his plate. 

“Ya know what I mean. Come over to my place. I’ll cook ya somethin’ a ‘lil more substantial than onigiri. I’ll even send ya home with leftovers. In return, ya can give me a ‘lil help with some plannin'.” Keiji looked at him with no emotion flashing on his face. “Please.” 

“Fine, but you have to make nanohana no karashiae. Rapini is in season and it’s my favorite.” 

“Deal.” 

-🍙- 

“So ya went golfing? Aren’t the closest courses like hours outside the city?” Osamu set down the broccoli rabe covered in soy sauce and mustard dressing, Keiji’s favorite, on the table next to several other dishes he had created for the evening including karaage and handmade gyoza. 

He had prepared a feast, putting in extra effort to create each item from scratch, to impress Keiji on his first visit to his apartment. He found he was both nervous for what he thought of the food and yet extremely proud of what he had put together. 

“Yes, but we didn’t just go golfing. It was a whole day of events. That’s why we didn’t go to a golf course. We went to a nearby driving range since the groom’s an avid golfer. Then for lunch, we had--,” Keiji paused looking at his food, as he was putting it on his plate, contemplating how to continue, but getting distracted by Osamu’s meal. “This looks amazing, by the way.” 

“Thank ya.” The chef’s pride swelled. Osamu never tired of people complimenting his food. It’s why he valued return customers so much. It was the biggest compliment a chef could get. 

“Okay,” he took a breath, “For lunch we had -- ugh, I hate thinking about it -- It’s so embarrassing. We had naked sushi.” 

Osamu’s eyes grew bigger. “Uhh, what’s that?”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of it?” Keiji turned a bit pink thinking about the meal, as he began to eat his own food. “Oh, wow, Myaa-sam. The nanohana, you’ll have to show me how to make this sometime.” He let out a little closed-mouth moan to confirm. While Osamu’s heart and lungs wrapped up in that noise with a squeeze he felt in his chest, his mind was still stuck on the naked sushi.  _ Focus _ .

“So, naked sushi, hmm?” Osamu raised his eyebrow. 

“Well, a woman or man, in this case, a woman -- since the groom’s straight, laid down on a table naked and we ate sushi off her body. Eh, we ate off sterilized leaves on her body, so the food didn’t really touch her body, but it still didn’t feel completely sanitary. Especially when you consider the body shots,” he blanched. “And it was morally grey at best.” 

“Morally grey?” 

“I mean, they’re laying there, not allowed to talk to us, like a piece of meat themselves. Makes a case for objectification if you ask me.” 

“‘Kaashi-kun, I thought ya said bachelor parties were fun. This doesn’t sound like ya had fun."

“Outside of the naked sushi, it was a good time. I promise. The best man just wanted to give us the stereotypical bachelor party experience and we settled on some compromises, that being one of them.”

“Ah, I see,” he gave him a look like he didn’t believe him, but gestured for him to continue as he kept eating. 

“An afternoon at a beer garden then dinner at a yakiniku spot followed by some bars. Pretty typical.”

“Ya say typical like I’m familiar with this kinda thing,” he laughed. 

“I mean--” Before he could complete his thought, Osamu’s phone rang, cutting him off. 

“Oh, sorry. It’s my mom. She usually doesn’t call at a time like this. Let me see if she’s okay,” Keiji signaled for him to pick up. “Mom! Hey, is everything ok?” 

_ ‘I’ve heard from all of yer cousins and they all have dates to the weddin’ already.’  _

“That’s what yer calling ‘bout?” He mouthed ‘sorry’ to Keiji, who shrugged and continued eating. 

_ ‘Of course, it is. I want to make sure you show up with someone. You can’t be the only one in the family without a date. Are ya bringin’ anyone? I haven’t heard anythin’ yet.’  _

_ “ _ I don’t know, mom. It’s early.” Osamu’s aurora suddenly conveyed looking annoyed, very annoyed. 

_ ‘Well, I guess Atsumu was right. Ya prolly won’t be bringin’ anyone to the weddin’.’  _ Osamu couldn’t stand the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. That sack of shit.

“Well, actually I am bringin’ someone,” he suddenly seethed in anger at the mention of Atsumu talking about him behind his back, at the mention of him being right. He reacted without thought, without reason.

_ ‘Who? It’s not like yer datin’ anyone.’ _

“Yes, I am!” He did it again. He ran his hand through his hair and pulled it in frustration.

_ ‘Oh? Who then?’ _

His eyes landed on the beautiful man in front of him. His lips moved before his mind could catch up. “Akaashi Keiji,” he spat back at her. He could hear his mother chuckling on the other end and asking a series of questions about who he was, as he groaned to himself. 

The reality of what he just said came at him like a train and knocked the air out of his chest. He mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to Keiji who stared at him surprised and wide-eyed unsure of what just happened, but knowing that he was brought into their discussion. “Alright, mom, I gotta go, bye.” He hung up before he could say anything else that would get him into further trouble. 

He turned to Keiji with a bright red face, trying to cover his failures with his hands. “I’m so, so sorry. I panicked.” 

“Um, what just happened?” Keiji looked confused. After Osamu explained to him more-or-less what had occurred on the call his response was short, “Well, I guess this is your mess to clean up. I’m not going.” 

“PLEASE!” Osamu exclaimed. “We’re best friends and ya know I will give ya free onigiri for the rest of yer life if we can pull this off.”

“Tempting…” Keiji tapped his chin, the mustard sauce around his mouth didn’t escape Osamu’s eye. He itched to wipe it off. 

“Think ‘bout it. Ya’d get to spy on Bokuto. Maybe even make ‘em a lil jealous, showerin’ me with all the affection yer used to giving ‘em,” Osamu leaned forward. 

Keiji coughed, pulling a single petal out of his mouth, which he placed on the corner of his plate, a reminder to them both of its significance. At the sight, Osamu felt a little jealous and at the same time, mildly guilty that he said that, that he resorted to such a tactic, that he caused such pain. He knew the feeling all too well. He grimaced. 

“I mean, you had me at best friends and onigiri, but everything else is an added bonus, I guess. So, what does this all entail?” He gestured to the phone as if his family and the wedding resided there, inside the device. 

“Well, I kinda told ‘er we were datin’.” 

“YOU WHAT.” 

“She asked if I was datin’ anyone and I said it was ya.” 

“Myaa-sam--” 

“‘Tsumu said--” 

Keiji rubbed his face and held up a hand for him to stop talking, cutting him off, “What does this mean?”

“You kinda hafta pretend to date me for a lil bit. At least until after the weddin’s over...” Osamu bit his lip and then looked off to the corner of the room, anywhere to avoid Keiji’s eyes. 

“Oh my god, you idiot. The wedding is six months away, right?” Keiji smacked his forehead in the most stereotypical facepalm Osamu could imagine him doing. It would be endearing if he wasn’t chastising him. 

“I’m sorry! She was bullyin’ me and I couldn’t back down. It was like ‘Tsumu was winnin’ again. Like the whole damn family was puttin’ me down and I just panicked. I’m sorrrrrry.” He started pouting. 

Keiji didn’t know how to respond, because he understood the insecurity that drove his decision even if he didn’t like it. He liked to help people too; he just didn’t like to do it like  _ this _ . So instead he sat quietly, picking at and pushing around the food on his plate. 

“‘Kaashi-kun?” He spoke quietly. 

“Ugh, fine. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for the onigiri.” He dropped his chopsticks, looking away. Crossed arms and annoyed, he still looked pretty. 

“THANK YOU, ‘KAASHI!” Osamu practically yelled, lunging to give Keiji a hug. Keiji, stiff with a blooming blush on his face, let Osamu hug him, but didn’t know how to react to the sudden affection when they had normally kept their personal space in their own bubbles.

“So, uh, fake boyfriend, huh?” After Osamu had divorced him from the embrace, he sat wringing his hands together looking somewhat self-conscious. “What does that really mean? If your mom knows, Atsumu knows, which means the rest of the volleyball universe knows. So uh… I think we should get our stories straight. Be prepared for questions and all that.”

“Huh?” Osamu wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Couldn’t they just say they started dating? What story?

“How did we start dating? When was our first date? All that kind of stuff. You know, the story.” Keiji looked at him as if he was already thinking of it, the book he was writing in his head. He was aspiring to be in the literature department, so writing a whole fake relationship? That should be easy for him. 

“Oh, right.” This made sense, of course. 

Keiji and Osamu hashed out the details of their ‘relationship’ -- they tried to keep it as close to the truth as possible, so there would be a few holes to poke and as little for them to lose track of. They decided that they will have gradually grown closer over time as Keiji ate at the restaurant and Osamu will have asked him out to dinner at his apartment, like this. Simple. Nothing fancy or frilly. Nothing with too much to elaborate on. 

After they agreed on their ‘story’, Osamu turned to his now fake-boyfriend, “And we’ve got to set some ground rules too.” 

“Rules?” Keiji’s brow furrowed. 

“Yeah, rules. So we’re both comfortable and we don’t have any miscommunications. Like, rule number one: no datin' other people. If anyone finds out, it’d look really bad and undercut out ‘relationship’.” 

“Okay, I get it. What about public displays of affection? Couples can be... hands-on.” Keiji had dated around, but nothing more serious that lasted a while. Nothing that required massive amounts of PDA. He played with his napkin. “Let’s just hold hands for now. I don’t want this to get weird or come off unnatural. We may need to work our way up to anything else in front of people.” 

Osamu put his hand on Keiji’s arm. “I don’t wantcha to do anythin' you don’t want to do. We’ll figure it out as we go. How about we just be respectful.” Keiji nodded. “Okay, so that’s rule two: be respectful of boundaries. Rule three. Hmm…” He paused and thought for a second, staring off. “No bold faced lies.”

“It’s bald-faced, actually.”

“What’s bald-faced?” Osamu cocked his head. "I'm not bald." He rubbed his head subconsciously. 

“The correct phrase is ‘bald-faced lies’,” Keiji said matter-of-factly. 

“It’s BOLD because small white lies are okay, right? Like  _ bold _ , big lies aren’t.” 

“I don’t think  _ any _ lies are okay if we’re doing this, bald-faced or otherwise.” 

Osamu licked his lips and swallowed, “Okay, rule three: no lies to one another.” They locked eyes with one another and Osamu already felt like he was lying even though he had not explicitly said anything that was a lie. He’d only coughed up a whole lot of secrets. Secrets he was accustomed to keeping to himself for a very long time. Secrets that he had shared with Keiji under previous circumstances that had now changed and that now seemed like a lie. 

They sat in silence as they tried to think of more rules, then Osamu couldn’t keep quiet anymore as his mind swirled. 

“Hey ‘Kaashi-kun, ‘bout rule number two, I don’t wanna make this weird or anythin’ but if you’re my, uh, fake boyfriend, as yer callin’ it,” Osamu blushed at the term and rubbed the back of his neck at what he was about to say next. “Shouldn’t we go on some dates to get comfortable with one 'nother like that?” He slowly began speeding up as he spoke. “So we can maybe act like a couple? Respectfully, of course.” Osamu gave him a little smile and looked up through his eyelashes bashfully.

Keiji felt very hot, face flushing, and looked nearly as awkward. “Oh, uh, sure, I guess.” He looked cute. So cute that it caused Osamu to let out a little cough. Luckily, he was able to disguise it as clearing his throat. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a cough to release root tension, it was one to pardon a petal from the prison of his lungs. He felt two flutter into his mouth and immediately swallowed them. 

The doctors told him he was always supposed to spit out his flowers -- if they’re mixed with roots, leaves, body tissue or more, swallowing them can often make you sicker. But he’d been swallowing petals for years in an attempt to hide his true feelings. 

Since he started coughing up these new flowers, he tried to do a little bit of research on them, and if he’s correct in his assumptions, these new petals were forget-me-nots. Swallowing their petals should do no harm as they’re edible. The petal itself outside of the harsh metallic twang that usually laced his mouth when he coughed tasted lightly floral, quite unlike the thicker, sweet gardenias he was accustomed to. He had grown used to swallowing those, hiding them; even more ironic since they meant ‘secret love’. 

He was sure these were forget-me-nots, as blue as they were, and felt safe enough eating them, as long as it was just their petals. And yet, if it was true that they were indeed forget-me-nots… their meaning… He put it out of his head for now. He wouldn’t let the meaning of flowers get to him -- that was just nonsense that Keiji spouted off before. 

-🍙- 

**annoying twin** [23:57]: YER DATIN FUKURODANI SETTER???

-🍙-🍙-🍙- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter title is based on the song by Rilo Kiley.
> 
> \- I actually am really intrigued by the idea of naked sushi (although never having done it), but Akaashi did not seem like the kind of person who’d be into it (in my mind). It was a fun exercise to write a differing perspective here and do a little bit of research into the topic (did you know it's banned in some countries?).
> 
> \- Now... let the fake dating begin! Let's see how it impacts Osamu psychologically (his pining!), his Hanahaki, the wedding, etc. Weeeee. 
> 
> \- This is actually the shortest of all the chapters. Next up, the longest of all the chapters!


	3. feelings are fatal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> osaaka week 2020 -- day four, tier three 
> 
> Please one more  
> kiss in the kitchen  
> Before we turn the lights off.  
> (From “Wish” by W.S. Merwin)

**onigiri supplier** [10:14]: We’ve been fake datin for like a month now. And as much as I love ya comin to Onigiri Miya like usual, I think it’s about time I take ya out on a proper date. Dontcha think? 

**fukurodani setter** [10:17]: If you’d like, Myaa-sam.

 **onigiri supplier** [10:21]: Try to sound a little more excited, Kaashi-kun! If we don’t at least go on a couple dates, we’re not gonna fool anyone. Plus, dontcha wanna show me off? 

**fukurodani setter** [10:32]: (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) 

**onigiri supplier** [10:34]: I’m going to take that as a yes. Unless it’s a no? How’s Saturday? 

**fukurodani setter** [10:45]: It works for me. 

-🍙- 

Osamu picked a high-end tonkatsu restaurant for Keiji to meet him at in the heart of Tokyo equidistant from their apartments. It was well-known for having a variety of quality pork choices from around the country to choose from and came highly recommended by other chefs in the industry -- Osamu had been dying to try it. He’d have no better tonkatsu in Japan, they said. 

He waited anxiously out front of the unassuming building, a renovated home-turned-restaurant with a crescent moon window. The door was shielded by a white curtain emblazoned with the word tonkatsu in katakana. Osamu bounced back-and-forth on the balls of his feet, wondering if he had dressed appropriately for a fake date. Clean cut, but not too fancy -- dressy casual -- boot cut jeans with a white button-up where he had rolled up his sleeves. He topped the outfit off with leather shoes. _The leather shoes were too much, right? Especially for Spring._

Before he could spiral further into something that couldn’t be changed, not now anyway, Keiji rounded the corner in a grey linen suit jacket on top of a white t-shirt and blue chinos with suede boots. The perfect dressy casual to match his date. 

Osamu let out a sigh, but the tension in his chest only seemed to tighten more. He waved as Keiji tipped his head. “Ya look nice,” he said as Keiji approached. 

“Thank you. You too.”

“Shall we?” He pulled the curtain out of the way and opened the door, following his date into the restaurant. 

Once seated, an awkward silence enveloped them. Conversation had never been a problem between them at the restaurant. It flowed naturally, but now in this setting -- a date -- it was as if a barrier had been erected between the two of them. Keiji played with his fingers, staring down at the table. Osamu took a sip of his water and stared at the various pork-themed art (cute and folksy pig figurines adorning the side of their booth), then an idea struck him. 

“Hey, let’s play a game. The question game.” He appeared eager. He couldn't have this night go poorly. It might ruin their friendship. 

Keiji looked up at him, making eye contact. “The question game?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, one of us asks a question and we both have to answer it. It’ll help us get to know each other a bit better. Better than we already know each other, I mean. I’ll start with somethin’ easy. What’s yer favorite color?” 

“My actual favorite color growing up was red. I’ve always liked deep burgundy. I think it brings out my eyes best. You?”

“Silver.” 

“How obvious. It explains the hair in high school.” He half-smiled. 

“As soon as I picked it, ‘Tsumu said he had to have gold cuz it’s better than silver. Prick. And that’s how he got his hair. I grew out of it after high school. But he never did.” He shrugged. “Your turn.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Food.” Osamu stared at him. Keiji didn’t laugh. 

“I don’t think you understood my question.” 

“I did. I like everythin’. All kinds. Just depends on my mood. Some days I’m in the mood for everythin’ and I hafta get a buncha things to eat and just snack. Sometimes I worry though that I won’t be in the mood to decide what to eat on the last day of my life and that’ll be what ends me.” 

Keiji chuckled, “Something tells me you will never starve yourself.” 

He smiled back. “Yer prolly right ‘bout that, ‘Kaashi-kun. Now as for ya, I already know yer fave is nanohana no karashiae, so ask another question.” 

“Good memory. Hm. What’s your favorite thing to shop for, then?” 

“Food.”

“Again? Not any particular kind?”

“Nope. Food in general is sucha broad category that there’s so many different things that ya need to learn to look for when buyin’ it. There’re different freshness indicators dependin’ on what yer buyin', different tastes dependin’ on where the thing’s from. Look at the meat at this restaurant. All they sell is pork but from different regions and different cuts. Knowin' every lil’ thing ‘bout what influences food is what makes it so fun. There’s so many variables that can affect yer dish. I learn more and more each time I talk to the vendors at the farmer’s market.”

“Hmm.” Keiji cocked his head in interest. 

“Oh, sorry. I’m ramblin’. I do that when it comes to food sometimes. What aboutcha?”

“Books. I can spend hours in a bookstore. Reading book covers, excerpts, flipping through pages. It’s my happy place,” Keiji mused.

“Makes sense cuz ya want to work in literature and all.” Keiji had spoken of the topic as he’d eaten at Onigiri Miya. He bemoaned not getting the promotion into the literature department. 

This series of questions went back and forth as they ordered and ate their sampler of fried pork morsels, along with their amuse bouche of marinated potatoes, clam miso soup, and pickles that came with the meal. Keiji relished the meal, murmuring his favorite thing about each dish as he tried it. Osamu was in heaven, getting inspiration for an onigiri special. He enjoyed seeing Keiji so into the food too. Having that in common warmed him. 

They answered many more questions throughout the night, ones with simple answers to those with longer explanations. From “what do you do in your spare time” to “life goals” and “bad habits.” They even covered “what stresses you out” (Keiji said ‘Udai missing deadlines’), “name a food you hate” (Osamu said ‘none’), and they even covered deep questions like “do you want children” (both said yes).

Osamu found himself enraptured in every answer Keiji gave. He waited on bated breath for each one, riveted. No answer he gave turned him off; in fact, it only furthered his adoration for the man. It fueled and strengthened his fascination, but at the same time, his garden grew new shoots with each one. 

The most interesting question of the night for both of them ended up being ‘Did ya ever try datin’ anyone to get over yer Hanahaki?”

Keiji paused, looking to the wall, staring at the little sculpted pigs, wondering how much he should say. Ultimately he decided the whole truth was for the best. No lies, right? And a lie of omission was still a lie. “Yes, I dated people from my Hanahaki community. We all had that mentality at one time or another. We would all hook up...” He turned a bit red at the admission, took a sip of his drink, and played with his fingers. “There was a massive hook up culture there. I only dabbled in that for a brief period until I realized how unfulfilling it was. I tried dating some of them, one in particular for a little bit. We thought we’d give it a try to see if it could help, at least with the loneliness, but something about it felt wrong like I wasn’t being true to myself. So I broke up with him. Nothing ever felt real enough to stick with." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "How about you?” 

“Yeah, I did. I dated someone for a 'lil bit too. I ain’t proud of it, but after we slept together, they got Hanahaki.” Osamu rubbed his face. “Then they caught me coughin' up my flowers. They thought they had the disease 'cuz I just hadn’t caught up to their feelin's yet, but once they saw I had it too, but just for someone else, they broke up with me on the spot. They said as much as they loved me, they didn’t want to watch me be in love with someone else for the rest of their life. That it was too painful. They wanted to try to get over it on their own. I'm pretty sure seein' me cough shit up helped pretty quick though.”

“I see.” His tone wasn’t judgemental. It was rather soft and understanding. He had seen and heard many Hanahaki stories. There was never fault for causing it per se, despite the guilt people may have felt once they found out. 

“I never tried to stop ‘em. Part of me wonders if somethin' woulda changed if I had. But yanno, I had different priorities. They were prolly right anyways,” he sighed. 

Keiji nodded, “I get it.” 

Their waiter came to remove their plates and bring them the check. Osamu grabbed it before Keiji had a chance to peek. 

“What’s my share of the bill, Myaa-sam?” 

“I asked ya out to such a nice place, ‘Kaashi-kun. It’s on me.” He flagged down the waiter and handed him payment as Keiji thanked him for the meal. 

On their way out the door, Keiji recognized one of the couples arriving from having played against one of them in high school. Daisho Suguru entered, accompanied by Yamaka Mika. Keiji knew they lived in Tokyo, but had rarely seen them outside of the occasional V.League match. Daisho played for the V2 team Yotsuya Motor Spirits based in Shinjuku, so they got free tickets to the V1 games Keiji attended when he could. He’d see them when Daisho wasn’t practicing or playing himself. 

“Mika-chan, good to see you.” Keiji smiled at her after they made eye contact, and curtly nodded towards her date, “Daisho.” 

Osamu sensed the rigidity Keiji showed towards the man and the lack of honorifics was telling. While usually reserved for people he was comfortable with, in this case, he could tell it was Keiji being subtly rude.

“Keiji-kun, likewise. I’m not used to seeing you outside of the stands!” 'Mika-chan' smiled back. 

Daisho sneered, “I’m not surprised to see you with _him_ though. Rumors do spread fast, huh.” Mika looked annoyed at her date. 

“Excuse me?” Osamu interjected, seeing that Keiji was looking a little uncomfortable, shifting his weight, eyeing the door. He took the opportunity to put his arm around him, protectively guarding his date against further verbal assaults. 

“You’re Atsumu’s brother, right? The onigiri guy. Nice to meet you. Daisho Suguru,” he gestured to his chest and then to his date, “Yamaka Mika.” Then the hostess called a number, “Oh, shame. That’s our table. See you.” He latched onto Mika’s arm and steered them away as she waved kindly. 

“Wow, he’s the worst,” Keiji grimaced. 

“Who was that guy?” Osamu turned to him as he led them out of the restaurant, arm still around his fake boyfriend. He somehow didn’t even notice until they were outside and stopped to hear his answer. He stiffened and slowly pulled away, listening as they debriefed on their encounter. _How had I ended up holding onto him? Oh, right. That guy. Was that okay?_

“Daisho? YMS player. Nohebi alum. Kuroo’s ex. So we haven’t gotten along as Kuroo’s a good friend. Mika-chan on the other hand is a delight. We’ve seen a few games together when Daisho’s had practice. She can do better than him.” He shook his head. 

Osamu only heard so much after a bomb went off in the middle of Keiji’s sentence. “Kuroo Tetsurou dated that guy!” His shocked face made Keiji giggle. 

“Yeah, him and Mika have been on-and-off for years since high school, and at first when they were off, he and Kuroo were on. Until Kenma realized he didn’t like that.” 

“As in _the_ Kodzuken?” 

“Yeah, who else?” 

“Keiji, who are ya? Where do ya get all this gossip?” 

“Gossip? These are my friends, Osamu.” He laughed, making Osamu almost forget about what they were talking about. “I’m surprised you don’t hear more being who you are.” 

“I don’t hang out with that many volleyball people anymore. I have a lotta chef and foodservice friends now. I guess I keep up with a couple old people here and there at the games.” 

“Ah, I see.” There was silence between the two of them which Keiji ended up breaking. “So outside of him, I had fun tonight getting to know you better.” 

“Me too.” He responded quickly. _Too quickly?_ Osamu felt his heart speed up. With it, he felt roots growing deeper into his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. “Can I walk ya home?” 

“Sure.” 

As they crossed the street, Osamu felt like he needed to clear things up. “So one of our rules is to be respectful of each other’s boundaries, but we’ve gotta get comfortable enough to act like we’re dating. It didn’t seem like ya were too comfortable back there, so I took the initiative to act like yer boyfriend. Was that okay?”

Keiji bit his lip and looked away, “Yeah.” 

In response to the cute reaction, he felt a surge of boldness, “So how ‘bout we make ya a bit more comfortable? Can I hold yer hand?” 

Keiji looked at the ground as they walked, pausing a beat, “Sure.” 

Before Osamu could make the move, he felt cold fingers slip into his. 

“‘Kaashi-kun, yer fingers are freezin’! I’ve gotta warm ‘em up. How do ya live like this? It’s June!” On instinct, he rubbed Keiji’s hand with his other hand and brought the bundle close to his mouth. He realized Keiji’s fingers were so close to his face. He could kiss them. He blew a hot breath onto their combined fist as he felt his face get warm. 

“I’ve always been a little cold natured. It's why I love sweaters,” his date responded. 

“Ah, is that so?” As embarrassed as he was to have rubbed Keiji’s hand and point out his frigid nature, it gave him a reason to keep rubbing his thumb around Keiji’s hand. Or at least in his mind, that’s how he justified it. It made sense. 

His grip felt electrifying; all of his attention was focused there, even if he was somehow conversing with Keiji. About what, he couldn’t recall. His head was getting fuzzy, likely from the lack of oxygen he was receiving from the flowerbed cultivated in his chest. He breathed and it felt like no air came in at all. The pressure on his rib cage tightened. 

But when he arrived at the doorstep of the Akaashi household, or rather his apartment, Osamu had a moment of clarity, or maybe it was a moment of boldness. His head cleared.

“So we’re here,” Keiji announced as they stopped in front of the door to his apartment complex. 

“You know, if this were a real date, this would be the part where I’m ‘spose to kiss ya.” 

“Myaa-sam!” Keiji exclaimed in a fluster. “You can’t just say something like that!” He tried to pull his hand away, but Osamu was holding on tight and it ended up pulling him in closer. 

“I think that’s the whole point. I’m ‘spose to ask. And, yanno, we’re datin’ now. You can call me Osamu.” He said much closer to Keiji’s face than he had previously been. 

Bright red, Keiji turned his face to the side to create some distance, “Fake dating!” 

“Alright, _Keiji-kun_. Next time, then.” He squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek, letting go and leaving him behind on the stoop. Speechless, Keiji’s wide eyes followed him as he left. 

After walking down the block, Osamu turned to make sure Keiji had entered the building and was no longer watching him. If he had turned around a little bit sooner, it would have seen Keiji standing dumbstruck, hand caught mid-air on the way to his face before he realized he should go inside. But instead, he saw Keiji's back heading in and took the opportunity to duck into an alley -- the tension that he felt growing in his chest all night needed to be relieved. 

Saying Keiji’s first name out loud had been his breaking point -- no amount of suppressants could have prepared him for the tension he felt. He clutched at his chest as he began to cough. First blue petals tumbled from his mouth, then fully formed buds that hadn’t had time to bloom, followed by leaves, stems, and roots, then attached to the roots came lung tissue and blood. 

Gasping in between coughs, he tried to regain his breath as he stared at the mess in front of him. Wiping his mouth, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the mess on the ground. In it, he surprisingly found beauty. He reached down and picked up one of the fully formed flowers that somehow hadn’t been mangled by the upheaval or covered in fluids. He tucked it behind his ear. 

_Worth it._ He smiled as he exited the alley thinking about his absolutely fake date. Even if it was in no way real whatsoever and he coughed up so much unrequited love, then why did he feel so goddamn happy? 

-🍙- 

**fukurodani setter** [12:19]: I have an idea for our second date. 

**onigiri supplier** [12:22]: OH HO. Yer askin me out, Keiji? Ya musta had a good time at dinner, huh?

 **fukurodani setter** [12:30]: Don’t get hurt patting yourself on the back there. 

**fukurodani setter** [12:31]: I just figured it was bound to happen sooner or later, and there’s a movie I want to show you. One of my favorites. 

**onigiri supplier** [12:37]: Dinner and a movie. I like it. 

**fukurodani setter** [12:41]: Your couch is better than mine, so you’ll host again, but I’ll bring food. 

**onigiri supplier** [12:44]: Yer cookin for me?! 

**fukurodani setter** [12:47]: Please. Take out. 

**onigiri supplier** [12:52]: A guy can dream! 

**fukurodani setter** [12:59]: See you Saturday, Osamu. 

**onigiri supplier** [13:01]: YA CALLED ME OSAMU! 

**fukurodani setter** [13:03]: That's your name, isn't it?

-🍙-

With take out, snacks, and a beat-up looking DVD in hand, Keiji showed up on Osamu’s doorstep at eight sharp in upscale loungewear. He brought cold somen noodles to wind down after a hot summer day, popcorn, and his favorite Hanahaki romance film. It was his go-to growing up and the one that got him interested in Hanahaki culture in general. 

“We should eat before the movie,” Keiji announced as he was unpacking the bags. “It’s what I call a ‘hurler.’ You’ll see why.” They leisurely enjoyed their somen on Osamu’s patio to take in the July evening before setting up inside. Keiji made sure they each had trashcans near them. 

“What're these for?” Osamu raised his eyebrow. 

“You’ll need it.” Keiji’s look was somewhat ominous as he started the film, _Your Flowers_. He seemed incredibly serious about the film, so Osamu felt like it was his duty to watch and fully pay attention. 

_Your Flowers_ seemed like the standard Hanahaki flick, more or less. It was a case of girl meets girl: the girl Natsu fell head over heels in love with her best friend Yuki, who did not love her back. In fact, she was clueless about her feelings, but through a series of mishaps found out about her Hanahaki disease.

Being the good friend that she was, Yuki comforted Natsu through her sickness. Getting even closer to her, seeing her vulnerabilities and pain, but also beauty, in a whole new way caused Yuki to ask Natsu why she was settling for this, why she wasn’t trying to get over her feelings. Natsu turned to her and said, “How lucky we are to experience love, even if it’s unreturned.” 

Yuki brushed the hair out of Natsu’s face with teary eyes and responded, as the camera panned in tight, “You shouldn’t have to settle for that.” 

Osamu noticed that Keiji had mouthed the words to those two lines between Natsu and Yuki. They clearly meant a lot to him, not just because he had Hanahaki, but because of the representation in the movie. For mainstream media to portray a gay relationship at the time was a big deal too. 

Thinking about the weight of the film, that scene, and Keiji’s reaction nearly distracted him from the fact that trumpets were playing as Yuki kissed Natsu, that her illness was now cured. She could breathe easy, stopped coughing, and lit up when she realized her kiss wasn’t full of pity, but love. This was real. 

While the movie seemed like little more than the standard Hanahaki fare, it was also a ‘hurler’ as Keiji had promised. They both ended up coughing up all their blossoms and more into the trash cans Keiji had readied for them. It made them think of the moments they would never experience, all the emotions they would not have, all of the love unreturned. Osamu coughed up a mix of both gardenias and forget-me-nots, with a heavier lean on the blue petals. 

Keiji was done relatively soon, coughing up only a small handful of petals. He then scooted over to lend his comforts to Osamu. He rubbed his back which only served to make the hacking worse though. Osamu hunched over the trash can, obscuring his petals from Keiji’s view. He didn’t want him reading into his new petals. 

“Yer suppressants must be workin’,” Osamu said as he wiped his mouth when he had fully cleared out his system. He had never let anyone see him cough up his blossoms like this before. It felt like a new level of intimacy. 

“I don’t take suppressants anymore,” Keiji responded as he rubbed Osamu’s back. 

“Gotta teach me yer secrets.” Osamu took the buckets to the kitchen and dumped them out. 

Keiji shrugged, “No secrets. Want to watch another movie? I’ll bring out the popcorn I brought this time.” 

“Sure.” Sitting back down, he pulled up Setflix to pick out a movie. Keiji brought out a bag of pre-popped popcorn, grabbing bowls for them, and spread out the blanket as he sat down. He threw his legs over Osamu and lounged on the couch as they sunk in for the second film, a comedy this time. This was another level of closeness between the two of them that had been breached, catching Osamu by surprise. 

Stiff and awkward, Osamu didn’t know what to do with his hands with this newfound treasure in his lap. He played with the fibers on the blanket nervously at first, but before he knew it, he was enthralled with the movie and absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Keiji’s legs. 

When he noticed what he was doing, his breathing rattled. Having already thrown everything up, he didn’t have to worry about any other Hanahaki complications that evening though, no matter how much Keiji’s long legs increased the adrenaline coursing through his veins. No matter how much they made him want to cuddle. No matter how much they made his eyes travel up his body and caused him to stare. _Oh, shit. Keiji caught me staring._

“What?” Keiji stared right back. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?” 

“Nothing!” 

“Seriously?” Keiji rolled his eyes and threw popcorn at Osamu. 

“Ya didn’t just...!” Osamu’s eyes widened as he took a handful of the snack and tossed it back, cascading it across the couch. This devolved into an all-out war: throwing more popcorn, tickling one another, begging for forgiveness. Keiji ultimately lost, breathless and red-faced. Osamu would always win that kind of fight because having a twin meant working up your immunity towards those types of attacks when you were younger, even if his lung capacity was greatly diminished now. 

The play fighting ended with them intertwined, playfully eating popcorn off one another’s chests and out of each other’s hair. As Osamu plucked up a kernel next to Keiji’s face, he stared at his pink cheeks, rose-colored from the incited laughter. The smile on his face stretched as he laughed at one of the jokes from the movie. The smooth skin in front of him was inviting, enticing. His mouth was soft and plump. It begged to be captured in his own. He was just in the right position to lean in. He held his breath. _What would happen if I kissed him right now? Even just one on the cheek?_ His heart raced. 

The movie ended and Keiji turned his head, “I don’t want to get up. Another one?” 

“Yeah.” Osamu grabbed the remote and fired up another movie. 

-🍙-

Wet hands. Grainy salt. Short-grain rice. Osamu molded the onigiri in rote fashion as he had many times before. Quickly. Assuredly. Too many fillings to count. He was in his kitchen; his surroundings blurred as he worked mechanically. 

Someone came up behind him and wrapped their arms around his waist. Not someone. Keiji, but hazy.

He felt warm. Keiji nuzzled into his neck as he craned to bring them closer. 

“Are those for me?” Keiji whispered into his ear. 

“Of course,” Osamu whispered back, turning to meet his face. Keiji closed the gap between them. He leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

Osamu wanted to melt into him. He closed his eyes, indulging in this feeling. _One more._ But when he opened them, he was in a dark room with the glaring light from the Setflix home screen on the television in front of him. 

He had fallen asleep on the couch with Keiji during their movie night; where he had been cradling his legs before, now he hugged his whole body, arm wrapped around his chest. Kernels of popcorn still lingered on the floor. His chest rumbled as he looked at the way the harsh light bounced off Keiji’s sleeping features. He could feel new plants taking root, spurred on by his imagination. 

He looked at the clock on his mantle. He’d let Keiji sleep instead of waking him -- it was too late. He stood and turned, cementing the scene in front of him in his mind. He pulled the blanket over Keiji. Instead of staying on the too-small-for-two-to-sleep couch, which would definitely accelerate the garden growth that he knew he’d be tending to tomorrow, he went to his bed, staring at the kitchen as he passed.

 _One more_. He closed his eyes, grasping at the remnants of the dream that had slipped away, his breathing shallow. 

In the morning, Osamu woke distracted, knowing he had a guest on his couch to contend with. He emerged from his room in his favorite, grey sleeveless shirt, hair tousled after a restless night plagued by more dreams of haves and have nots. 

He crouched next to Keiji who looked ethereal even when sleeping out of his element. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” He brushed the hair out of his face and felt his heart squeeze. He wished he could wake up to this face every day. 

The man opened his eyes and looked around blearily, “Where am I?” He yawned and grabbed onto Osamu’s arm to hoist himself up.

Osamu handed him his glasses, which he put on. “Ya fell asleep here last night. Yer at my place still.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” He looked at his one hand on Osamu’s bicep, at Osamu’s face, and then down at the blanket, blushing. 

“‘Sokay,” Osamu grinned. “Ya wanna get breakfast?” 

Hurriedly, he stood up and answered, “I’m not much for breakfasts. I usually just have coffee.” Keiji looked at his watch. “Thank you. I really should go though. I have a lot to do today.” 

Osamu walked him to the door, disappointed. “Keiji-kun, ya know breakfast is the most important meal of the day? Ya better at least get in a good meal today, ya promise?”

“I promise,” he half-smiled as he stepped out the door. He got the ‘eating better’ lecture at least once a week at the restaurant. Osamu wasn't quite sure he took it to heart, but he gave it nonetheless. 

“Good. So now that we’ve spent the night together, do I at least get a kiss?” Osamu smirked as he leaned against the door frame, his exterior looking much calmer than his interior. His heartbeat was hammering away, pulsing adrenaline through his body. 

Keiji’s eyes glanced at Osamu’s lips and then he shoved him back into the house. “Goodbye, Osamu.” 

“Next time, then!” He called from inside and shut the door. 

-🍙- 

The buzz from waiting under the fluorescent lighting at the doctor’s office pulsed, giving Osamu a headache. He never liked visiting the Hanahaki Specialist -- it was a sign of his weakness, his shortcomings that he never wanted to acknowledge, laid out in front of him in a place where he was unable to hide. 

After being called back, he bounced his knees under the anticipation of what he was going to say. 

“Osamu, what can I do for you today? I thought we set you up on a good supply of suppressants during your last check-up and your next visit isn’t for a while now.” The doctor checked her notes to confirm. 

“Well, doc. I’ve got an issue. Ya see, I’ve started coughin’ up another type of flower.” Osamu scratched his head. 

“That tends to happen when your feelings change. Nothing to be worried about.” She jotted a note and looked at him. 

“No. It’s not like that. I’m still coughin’ up the old flower sometimes. I’m now coughin’ up two types of petals. Have been for a while.” The doctor furrowed her brow and pulled out her stethoscope, placing it on Osamu’s chest. 

“Breathe in.” She listened to his lungs fill with air and then began tapping on his chest with her knuckles in various places while listening. 

“I’m in love with two people, doc.” He sighed. 

“I see. We can double your dose of suppressants, but that will put you at your limit. I’d also like to set you up with a therapist. Hopefully that --” He’s loved Sunarin for so long. He held onto his feelings tightly. He’s not sure that a therapist can help him let go. He wasn’t always good at expressing his emotions verbally to others. 

He interrupted her, “I want ya to remove one of the flower sets.” He came here to ask about the surgery. He’s been thinking for weeks that he’s been wanting to remove his feelings for Sunarin and only Sunarin. He cannot go on pining for his future brother-in-law. He would rather pursue Keiji wholeheartedly, even if it meant he had to lose some memories. 

She pulled away from him, studying his face, and then turned around, making notes in her chart. 

“It’s rare to have two distinct root sets. So much so that I have never seen it in my professional career. I have seen at medical conferences that they can become entwined with one another as they grow, especially if the two loves are equal in intensity.” 

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t think there’s a way to remove one flower bed without removing the other. I can remove both or neither.” 

“Oh.” Osamu’s disappointment soared and his chest ached as something took a deeper root in the grotto of his rib cage. 

“That said, having two beds growing in your cavity is not to be taken lightly. You need to find a way to get rid of one or both of them. There’s only so much space in your lungs; having too large of a root system growing in your chest cavity can only lead to one thing.” 

“What?”

“Early death. Not right away, but over time, either your lungs will give out from the damage or you’re likely to suffocate on your love as the suppressants stop working. It’s slow and painful. If it gets to that point, we can give you expectorants to help you cough up your garden easier, but that could expedite the damage and there’s only so much the regen pills can do. You have a while before we start weighing those options though.” 

Anxiety struck him. “How long?” 

“Hm, with how long you've had it? I’d say maybe another 10 years, give or take if you keep both beds? I can’t say for sure. Your lungs have already taken quite the beating. It could be shorter if you keep swallowing bits of the plants like I know you do.” She gave him a disapproving look. “For now, let’s get some X-rays done and induce a floral expulsion. We can take some photos to see the extent of the damage.” 

Osamu sighed. This was all too much for him. He thought it would be a little more straightforward and now he was about to become a statistic… there was no way that Sunarin or Keiji was turning tail on their long time adorations. 

“I’d also like you to sign these forms -- I’d like to submit this as a case study to a medical journal, and have you continue to follow back up with me on your progress. The world of Hanahaki medicine could really learn from your progress.” 

In a daze, Osamu took the pen and signed on the line. He felt less like he was getting help and more like a lab rat or a zoo animal, with patrons tapping on the glass in fascination. 

He left the clinic feeling deflated, and yet, he also had a sense of purpose. _The doctor said I had to get rid of my petals somehow, right? Well, damn right, I’m gonna try._

-🍙- 

The cursor sat flickering in the Noogle search engine bar. Osamu typed in: “How to fall out of love” and clicked enter. He opened the first article, “Seven Steps for Falling Out of Love.” 

_Whether your relationship just ended or you have Hanahaki Disease, you’ve come to the right place! Having done this many times myself (serial dater -- don’t judge me -- and 5-time recoverer of Hanahaki), here are the steps I go through to coach myself through a break-up. Falling out of love is a skill that requires patience, but it can be done!_

_Follow these 7 steps and you’ll be on your way:_

  * _**Accept**. Don’t pretend you aren’t hurting. Hiding your emotional struggles will only make things worse. Process the feelings of your loss. Do things that bring you comfort. Take time for yourself. _
  * _**Reflect**. Think about both the good and the bad times. Romanticizing the person will only have you hung up on them longer. Remove your rose-colored glasses and remember they have flaws and weaknesses. That said, don’t focus on the negative. Be thankful for the ways their love has changed you, but also notice how it hindered your growth. Look at it in its totality. _****
  * _**Write**. Letting writing can be cathartic. Putting all your feelings into the form of a letter to them can help you process your emotions. Just DON’T send it. In fact, burn it. Then no one will find it and your feelings will be purged. That’s what I do. It’ll save you the embarrassment of your roommate finding it later. _


  * **Think**. Figure out what was so captivating about them in the first place. Are they still the same person you fell in love with? Is what you were attracted to even healthy? Use the things that you figure out here to inform your future decisions. 


  * **Stop**. Kind of the opposite of that last point. Don’t give them so much of your attention. Stop checking up on them online. Don’t hang out with them anymore. Don’t do anything that you feel like you shouldn’t be doing. If your brain wonders what they’re up to, let it. You don’t need to indulge yourself. Get them out of your mind -- that itch will eventually go away. 


  * **Overload**. To get them out of your mind, do something else. Stay busy. Your mind wanders when it has too much time on its hands. When you’re bored, that’s when it thinks of what it can’t have. Pick up a new hobby, watch a new show that they wouldn’t like, or work out. Do anything else that would allow you not to think of them. 


  * **Fall**. Clown yourself by beginning this whole process anew -- find someone else. Fall in love with them. Preoccupy your mind with this person and maybe they’ll preoccupy their mind with you. 



_And if all else fails, constantly remind yourself of what John Steinbeck said, “Nothing good gets away.”_

Osamu sighed. Could be worse. 

He thought to himself, _Let’s review. I’ve accepted, I’m reading this article, ain’t I? I could do with more reflection and thinkin’. I’ll put that on my mental list. It’ll come with time. Letter writing, OK, added to the list. Stop thinkin’, great. Easier said than done -- aren’t I ‘spose to be thinkin’? This is confusing. In the very least, it prolly means no more streamin’ EJP games. OK. Done. I can do that. Now, stay busy -- well, there’s work (maybe now would be a good time to start that cookbook?), the weddin’ (although that’s somewhat counterproductive, but if I focus on the tasks for that, it prolly won’t be too distractin’, right?), the gym, and Keiji. Focus on Keiji. The more I hang out with Keiji and stay busy, the less I think about Sunarin, and the fewer gardenias I’ll cough. I can do this. This could help._

Osamu wanted to begin checking some boxes off the list.

_Dear Rintarou…_

-🍙-

 **annoying twin** [13:23]: Samu have ya heard of the Kama Sutra? 

**better twin** [13:49]: Yes. Why? Ya know what? Don’t tell me. 

**annoying twin** [13:51]: Rin and I started yoga and the next logical step was... (✯◡✯)

 **better twin** [13:53]: Gross. I don’t need to know about yer sex life. 

**annoying twin** [13:56]: Ya should try it with Kaashi-kun. (^.~)☆

As he read through the texts, emotions came flooding back to Osamu, flashbacks of the locker room in particular. To be reminded of his love and also of one of the worst moments of his life made it hard to breathe. He felt the beautiful flowerbed that he had been cultivating for Keiji become infused with tainted roots and he knew they weren’t forget-me-nots. 

Physical pain. Mental nausea. 

The sudden onslaught of feelings and an already filled chest cavity meant that he was more prone to coughing fits now. A quick hack produced gardenia petals and closed buds in his hand. 

Texts like this from Atsumu were counterproductive against his efforts to fall out of love; and yet, he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t block him. _Or could I?_ He couldn’t. He’d catch hell from his family for scorning the golden child. He had to continue on with his efforts to fall out of love as best he could. 

-🍙-

The lunch rush had Osamu passing out pre-formed onigiri and pressing custom orders as quickly as he could. He hauled rice from the back and filled one of the rice makers when he heard a familiar voice, one unexpected at this time on this day. 

“Two salmon onigiri and a side of assorted pickles, and what would you like, Udai-san?” 

Osamu turned around to have his heart thump at the sight of Keiji. “Didn’t ‘spect ya today, Keiji-kun. Not yer normal time.” 

Keiji blushed at the name, “Picking up lunch for the office.” 

“I see.” He turned to the cashier helping him during the rush, “His order’s on the house.” Tenma turned to look at Keiji with a raised eyebrow. “Just his, though. I can’t have yer whole office eatin’ me outta house and home.” The cashier nodded. 

“Thank you, Osamu.” Keiji looked flushed as Tenma's eyes were filled with stars, trying to decide who to look at between the two of them. This might be the moment he turned from a shonen mangaka to a shoujo writer. 

Keiji locked eyes with Osamu who thought he might melt right then and there. Some of the rice he was pouring into the machine spilled onto the floor. “Shit.” He scrambled to clean it up. 

Keiji laughed and paid for his order. He walked out with a passing goodbye as the place was busy -- he didn’t want to hold up the staff. Osamu wasn’t about to let him go like that though. As soon as he had the rice passably cleaned up, he hustled out the door after him with a quick word to the cashier that he'd be back shortly. 

“Keiji!” He caught him before he was too far down the street. The man cocked his head. “Saturday night. Are you free?” 

Keiji’s face was as pink as the umeboshi he bought. “I don’t know. Udai here has problems with --” 

“Nope. No problems. I will get you those pages. Today.” Tenma beamed with a knowing smile. 

His grin amused Osamu, who had heard many times from Keiji of his failures to make deadlines. He wondered whether Keiji would take advantage of the mangaka’s newfound fascination with their “dating” life. He could deal with the other man’s nosiness if it meant he had another date. 

“Well, you heard it. You can blame him if I’m not then,” Keiji said to Osamu. 

“Great. Why don’t you come over for dinner again since you've got another deadline?” 

“Okay. I’ll see you at seven.” 

Osamu chuckled to himself watching Tenma badger Keiji as they walked away. 

-🍙-

The most important aspect in making sure your meal comes together smoothly is mise-en-place, or the notion of having everything in its place before beginning the cooking. This means setting up your kitchen in a way that is intuitive, chopping your vegetables ahead of time and setting them aside in a bowl, grouping items to be cooked together, etc. It also comes from the mindset of being prepared to cook. 

Osamu was prepared for the evening. Until he wasn’t. 

He would be cooking for Keiji in his apartment tonight. Not anything he hadn’t done before, but he was a little nervous. This time it was technically a date. Well, a fake date. But this time, he had made _promises_ that he had every intention of trying to follow through on. That didn’t make him any less nervous about how they would be received or how he would even _initiate_ them in the first place. His chest ached just thinking about it. It was torturous. In a good way. His imagination ran wild as he set everything in its location. 

He heard a knock on the door just as he had finished putting everything prepped in its proper place. He wiped his hands on his apron and went to the door. No sooner had he answered the door was Keiji crossing the threshold, putting down his bag in the doorway, and sliding off his shoes. 

Before Osamu could move out of the entryway, Keiji made the space between them smaller with a step closer. His gaze flicked from eyes to lips. He took Osamu’s face in his hands and kissed him, a short, chaste kiss. Time stopped when their lips met. This wasn't a dream this time, right? Osamu’s heart pounded so loudly he thought taiko drums were playing in his head. He could feel the twist of tendrils intertwining themselves in his torso. And yet, he didn’t want it to stop. It was over too soon. 

When Keiji pulled back, Osamu saw his beautiful, blushing face and couldn’t breathe. His chest wanted to burst with the festering growth occurring beneath the surface. His eyes felt like they were about to pop out of his head with how he stared at Keiji, stuck unable to move or speak in his entryway. His mind short-circuited, waiting for Keiji to say something, anything. 

“If we’re kissing, it’s on my terms.” Keiji picked up his bag and walked into the apartment, leaving Osamu stunned, suffocating on the love stuck in his throat that he was holding back. 

Breath continued to elude Osamu as he followed Keiji in. He gestured to him to take a seat, holding up a hand that he’d be a minute. He rushed off to the restroom to cough; a slew of petals left his mouth. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about that for the rest of the night then. Whatever feelings the date spurred, they wouldn’t grow fast enough for a harvest. 

“I probably shouldn’t have sprung that on you. It wasn’t fair. Sorry,” Keiji called from the other room. Osamu had hoped he couldn’t hear but the chances of that were minimal when he was ripping roots from his chest. It gave a new meaning to coughing up a lung. 

“No worries!” Osamu said as he caught his breath. He tried to sound chipper and wondered if his date bought it. He didn't. 

Before he left, he needed to do some extra cleanup. He cleaned up the blood dripping from his mouth, brushed his teeth, and applied chapstick. He stared at himself in the mirror. This wasn’t a nightmare, right? He splashed some water on his face for good measure. Akaashi fucking Keiji just kissed him and he basically responded by throwing up in the bathroom. Worse, throwing up his feelings for him. 

Now he had to go out and act normal. _Easy. Fine. Swell. ‘Swell?!’ Get it together, Samu._ He smacked his face. Great, now he had a red mark on his cheek. _Fuck._

When Osamu exited the bathroom, Keiji stood up from the table where he was sitting, playing with his fingers. He was entirely too cute in his summer sweater that dwarfed his shorts. “I’m so sorry, Osamu. I don’t want to cause you pain. I know with Hanahaki, affection with other people, especially if it’s unanticipated, can be hard.” He looked down at the floor, ashamed his plan to take control didn’t go as he had hoped. 

“S’ok. Ya didn’t. I was just a little caught off guard. M’better now.” Osamu smiled and grabbed his hand. “Ya think we could try that again?”

“Are you sure?” Keiji looked up at him, doubt in his eyes. “I only did it because I didn’t want things to be weird and tense, and now they are.” He bit his lip and looked away. 

“They’re not weird.” Osamu squeezed his hand and slid his other hand to cup his cheek, “And, yeah. M’sure.” 

Osamu leaned in, and let his senses guide him. He closed his eyes and felt Keiji’s soft lips against his mouth. With his heart beating violently, his skin buzzed with an electricity he had never felt before. It distracted from the growing discomfort in his chest. As he tilted his head and parted his lips to take in more, he breathed in the subtle scent of jasmine and coffee. It clouded his mind, made him want more. 

_Beep Beep Beep._

His eyes shot open, towards the noise. _The rice cooker. Oh, right. Dinner. Dammit._

“We can keep _practicing_ after dinner. There’s no way Atsumu’s going to buy that _that_ kiss is from a couple who’s been datin’ for months.” Osamu thought that if he didn’t get to kiss him again, the world might end. 

“Right.” Keiji said sarcastically, adjusting his glasses. If Osamu didn’t know better, he might say that he looked flustered. But he only had a slight tinge to the face and was set on straightening out the arms of his cardigan needlessly. Okay, maybe he was a little flustered. 

“So where was I? Hmm…” Osamu looked at his kitchen like he had never seen it before. He was so disoriented he just stared for a bit to reacclimate himself. 

“Can I help?” Keiji came up behind him. Osamu was acutely aware of everywhere their bodies touched when he sidled up next to him. 

“Sure.” _What was I cooking again?_ “I’ve prepped everythin’ already though.” He pointed to the vegetables and potatoes. _Ah, that’s right. I’m making curry._ “I can show ya how my gran taught me to make curry. It's nothin' like what that Kageyama's pushin'. Power curry, pssh.” 

“Oh, I can't wait.” Keiji leaned in over the ingredients to take them all in. 

Osamu walked him through the steps of building flavor with the aromatics, cooking the vegetables, potatoes and pork through, and then adding in the curry bricks along with various additions like chocolate, mirin, soy sauce, and curry powder for the extra spice Osamu liked. Infusing all the flavors together fully came with the addition of chicken broth as it thickened. 

Keiji took in the dish step-by-step. He leaned over Osamu’s shoulder, crowding his space to get the best view of the spices getting to know one another. The breath on Osamu’s neck was distracting; he nearly forgot certain ingredients or added them in at the wrong time, catching himself at the last second. As nervous as he was to mess up the dish, he was caught in Keiji’s eyes and couldn’t help but smile whenever he saw how enthralled he was in the process of cooking. 

“It smells so good,” Keiji said leaning on Osamu’s shoulder. 

“It tastes even better.” He picked up the spatula, dragged it through the thick mess of curry, and blew on it. Holding it out for Keiji, he was nervous for his thoughts. 

Keiji licked at the spatula, letting out a murmur of contentment and affirmation. Osamu’s chest would have swirled with pride (and more) if he hadn’t been distracted by the dabble of curry on his lip. He wanted to lick it off. 

Instead, he settled for wiping. “Keiji-kun, ya got a lil --” He dragged his thumb across Keiji’s bottom lip. “There. Got it.” He smiled and wiped the schmutz on his apron.

“Oh. Thanks,” Keiji replied bashfully. 

“Now grab some plates from that cabinet and we can plate this masterpiece up!” While Keiji did that, he fluffed the rice. Working in tandem, they plated the meal, orbiting one another in perfect balance, and sat down. 

Through the meal they discussed the success of Meteo Attack and where Tenma planned to take it, Osamu’s agenda for Atsumu’s bachelor party, as well as some upcoming family events. Conversation flowed easily between the two of them more so than ever before. Osamu laughed at stories of Tenma's antics, providing apt tips for dealing with him from his experiences with Atsumu. 

Osamu didn’t want the night to end. “Hey, any chance ya wanna grab dessert? I could walk ya home after.” 

“What’d you have in mind?” 

“Hm. Ice cream? Mochi? Waffles?” 

“Ice cream sounds nice. It’s hot out.” 

At a konbini, they snagged a matcha and a black sesame soft serve from the cashier and began their walk to Keiji’s. 

“Can I taste yers?” 

Osamu leaned over for a lick of the matcha Keiji handed to him. Keiji reciprocated having a taste of Osamu’s, once again getting a dribble on his face. 

“Can dress ya up, but can’t take ya out, huh.” He teased as Keiji tried to lap it up with his tongue to no avail.

“And we didn’t grab any napkins,” Keiji bemoaned. 

“I gotcha.” Like in the kitchen, Osamu dragged his thumb from Keiji’s chin to his lip to carefully gather all the sugary liquid. Without an apron to wipe it on though, he licked it off as Keiji stared. “Let’s get going.” 

As they walked and enjoyed their treats, an idea struck Osamu. He pulled out his phone and snapped a couple of selfies of the two of them, faces pushed together, ice cream between them. Then he ran a few steps ahead and took one of just Keiji with the glow of city lights illuminating his features. 

“What are you doing?” Keiji called out. 

Trotting back, Osamu snuck his hand into Keiji’s, feeling his chest tighten, “Yanno, just boyfriend things. I ain’t got no pictures of us. Who doesn’t have pictures of their boyfriend?”

“Fake boyfriend,” Keiji corrected. Osamu’s lungs burned. 

“Same thing, basically,” Osamu shrugged as if the correction wasn’t eating away at his insides. “What if ‘Tsumu looks at my phone? I’d be a terrible boyfriend. I need a new wallpaper anyway.” 

“Mmm. I see. Send me one then.” Osamu nodded in response and smiled, but the reaction he’s having inside is so much bigger than he let on. Keiji wanted a picture of the two of them. It might not be for the reasons he wanted one, but he’d have one in his possession. His heart swelled at the thought and with it, so did roots.

Shallow breath, step, lick. Shallow breath, step, crunch. Before he knew it, their ice cream was devoured and they were at Keiji’s. “Oh, we’re here already.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you at the restaurant this week.” Keiji pulled away towards the door, but Osamu caught his wrist before he could go inside. 

“Keiji, ya can’t go inside yet.” Osamu could feel his heart beating, pulsing through his veins. He was nervous. He felt his face heat up. “I, uh, wanted to say good night.” 

He noticed the summer breeze flutter Keiji’s hair, strands blowing across his face. Reaching up with his other hand, Osamu brushed the hair over his forehead, carding his hand through the black strands and let his fingers run down his cheek, coming to rest on his jaw. He looked into Keiji’s green eyes. They made him want to confess everything. Instead he settled for saying, “I think we should continue what we started earlier.” 

Shyly Keiji bit his lip and responded, “Oh. Okay. Sure.” 

Osamu tilted Keiji’s chin and leaned in. Hot breath intermingled on the warm summer night as he felt soft lips meet his. The kiss was unrestrained as he parted his mouth to drink in more of Keiji. The forget-me-nots indulged in what he fed them, but he didn’t care. He was a fool, chasing the rush that made his heart pound, leaving him breathless… and yet, he wanted more. 

Keiji put his hand on Osamu’s chest as he pulled away. With a look of serenity on his face, he said, “I think that was pretty convincing. Good night, Osamu.” 

“Good night, Keiji.” Walking away, his mind spun. He touched his lips. Jagged, shallow breaths felt like a ghost beneath them. Future him would hate himself next time he’s cycling through his blossoms, but it was worth it. 

There was something about Keiji that made him want to risk it all. 

-🍙-🍙-🍙-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAN YOU TASTE THE SELF-INDULGENCE? I had to hold back a lot. >.< This is my favorite chapter, I think. Not to say that the ones to come aren't also great. Which is why I commissioned some art! So big thanks to [Zean](https://twitter.com/onniegiri) for the ice cream piece! Nom.
> 
> Chapter title based on the song by mxmtoon. Alternative title: “Future Me Hates Me More” by The Beths. 
> 
> The restaurant that they went to on their first date is called Butagumi in Nishi-Azabu in Tokyo. I had the pleasure of going there on my honeymoon. I highly recommend it. I encompassed a lot of my life into this chapter, including bits of the ice cream scene (also from my honeymoon, which is why I wanted that art hehe) and the curry (which I've made a million times from the the cookbook zine that I helped mod). 
> 
> I wrote Osamu a lot like myself -- he may have some anxiety (which you'll see more of later, particularly chapter 5) and inferiority problems, but he’s still somewhat confident on the outside and going to try to make moves (yeah, I’m the kinda woman who makes moves first, what of it). Seems kind of oxymoronic, but it’s the contradictory nature that makes him more human and flawed (imo!)... Write what ya know though, right? 
> 
> I’d like to thank [The Art of Wellbeing](http://www.artofwellbeing.com/2017/02/17/outoflove) and this [Wikihow article](https://www.wikihow.com/Fall-Out-of-Love) for helping me write the Seven Steps for Falling Out of Love -- that section was paraphrasing those two articles with a little spin of my own. :) 
> 
> I don't want to leave Chekhov's gun lying around, so no, nothing happens with the letter he writes to Suna. He burns it right away. It's just a way for him to explore his feelings and get them out. I'm a big fan of cathartic letter writing.
> 
> In the next chapter: Expect the bachelor party and a trip to Hyogo!


	4. the idea of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osamu has to contend with Atsumu's bachelor party and a trip to Hyogo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> osaaka week 2020 -- day five, tier three 
> 
> there was a thump.  
> the sound of the moment we fell.  
> the sound that says  
> we can never go back to  
> the moment before.  
> (From “The eyes, the ears” by Rinko Kawauchi, 2005)

Hanahaki culture had never been of interest to Osamu until Keiji introduced him to it. Now he had to admit how useful it could be. While he wasn’t about to sit down and binge-watch a whole romantic angst series, he would watch _Your Flowers_ whenever he needed to quickly purge everything in his lungs. His memories of Keiji from the night he watched it were so strongly wrapped up in that one scene that he didn’t even need to watch the whole thing, just the end. 

It had become his routine now when he knew he’d be around Keiji, Atsumu, or Sunarin for long periods of time. He came to know the words Natsu and Yuki uttered and found himself -- like Keiji -- reciting them along with the film as he got ready to go out. 

For this particular day, Osamu needed to watch the film because today was Atsumu’s bachelor party. He would be carting around a bunch of drunken men around all day, men -- some of whom -- reminded him of certain emotions. He would have half of the Japan National Volleyball team to babysit, which only made him a little bit nervous. He had heard stories of the antics that they had gotten up to in the Olympic village last year from various sources, reputable and not, and was fully prepared to call their Public Relations reps to bail them out of any real trouble. Somehow these people had real sway and made magic happen. 

For instance, there was that time that Bokuto got caught streaking at a resort in Okinawa. It got swept under the rug. There was another time Bokuto got caught making out with Sakusa after practice. Those photos magically disappeared. Once Bokuto accidentally uploaded a video of a private Black Jackals’ party and his rep was able to make another story bigger to overshadow that one while they worked on getting it purged from the internet. 

Really, it was just Bokuto’s rep. She got paid the big bucks for a reason -- he might have the most PR problems, but he was also the most highly paid player due to his endorsements and popularity. Brands could overlook the minor issues he had because fans just loved him that much. 

Osamu made sure to have her number just in case. Not that he thought he’d need it, but you never know… Especially when he had gotten them a private hotel suite, access to the hotel’s rooftop pool where they’d be drinking tiki drinks all afternoon, then galavanting off to a cross-dressing maid cafe for tea (beacuse men in skirts always flustered Atsumu), then to a sushi dinner where Atsumu could get all the otoro he wanted, and finishing off the evening at a karaoke bar. How he’d corral all these drunk men, he didn’t know. They’d probably end up skipping the maid cafe if he was being realistic. 

While he had one plan for the day, Keiji had another one. He wasn’t invited to the actual party since he wasn’t that close to Atsumu, but he did want to drop Osamu off, especially since he hated taking the train. Osamu had questioned why when he could take a cab there himself, but Keiji thought that having your boyfriend drop you off would really cement their “relationship.” Osamu thought it was just to show off to Bokuto, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. 

So there he was, sitting in the passenger seat of Keiji’s car staring out the window as they made their way to the hotel. It was past the time he was supposed to be there. In fact, he probably should have been there first to set up, but he didn’t even want to be doing this in the first place, so... 

Keiji was late to arrive to pick him up -- Osamu was positive that it was so that they would have the largest audience. Keiji feigned ignorance, saying Tenma had an ‘emergency.’ When he questioned what emergency an editor would need to take care of for his mangaka over the weekend after the chapter had just submitted, Keiji replied, “Reference photos.” 

“Excuse me?”

“He uses me for reference photos since I played volleyball when he can’t make it out to games to take pictures,” Keiji said matter-of-factly. 

“Yer kiddin’.” Osamu didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed that this was the reason why he was late. Yes, it was work-related, but couldn’t he have Noogled a game? At the same time, he wanted to see those photos. 

During this back and forth in his mind, Osamu’s phone began blowing up with texts from Atsumu.

 **annoying twin** [11:05]: Yer the worst! I can’t believe yer late. 

**better twin** [11:07]: Blame Keiji. He said he’d drive and took forever. 

**annoying twin** [11:08]: We’re all waitin outside. 

Before he knew it, they pulled up to the hotel to see the group of professional volleyball players, dressed for the pool, with overnight bags and jeering attitudes. Flocked around Atsumu, Osamu spotted Bokuto leaning on Sakusa, who was half-listening to Komori chattering away. Aran and Gao were talking to Iwaizumi, while Hinata, tanned back on break from Brazil, flitted amongst the bunch. 

As Osamu opened the door to get out of the car, Keiji said, “Hey. You forgot something.” 

When Osamu turned to look at Keiji, he was nearly blinded by his smile; it shined brilliantly, a sight he was unaccustomed to, warming him through more than any summer day could. As the breath in his throat caught and the pang in his heart pulsated, Osamu was unprepared for what it was that he had forgotten. 

Keiji leaned in, placing his hand on Osamu’s cheek, closing the distance between the two of them as if the gesture was one he was used to by now. He placed a simple kiss on Osamu’s lips. His lips gave him life as if they were watering a garden. In some ways they were. A flood of emotions filled Osamu. 

“K-keiji,” he whispered. “Wh--” He felt his face heat and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He could feel the eyes of the volleyball team on him; their chatter ceased. 

“Shh. We needed a proper goodbye. They’re watching,” Keiji whispered back, leaning his forehead against his. 

_Ah, it was an act. Of course, it was._ Osamu felt a pang in his chest again. He desperately wanted this all to be real. Despite his new morning ritual, this unexpected attack on his lips had begun a new rooting cycle. It seized his lungs; his breathing slowed. Even so, he would continue planting forget-me-nots and staring into Keiji’s eyes if it meant he could continue to have moments like these, soft and close.

Noses touching, Keiji brushed them back and forth and went in for another kiss. This time, it was longer, languid. Osamu could lay in this lazy river of affection all day. Cupping Keiji’s cheek, he got lost in his presence, all-encompassing, deepening the kiss through parted lips. 

Forgetting where he was and why, forgetting this was all an act, Osamu would have continued with the kiss had he not been interrupted. He heard someone clearing their throat behind him, “We ain’t got all day, lover boy.” _Dammit, Atsumu_. 

His chest tightened as he pulled away. His throat burned. He looked at Keiji, cheeks pink. “Thanks for the ride.” Osamu grabbed his bag and departed the car; his mind clouded with so many emotions, he was unsure he was prepared for what the day had ahead. 

Keiji leaned over, waving at the group before Osamu closed the door. “Have fun!” 

“Akaashi-kun!” Hinata waved. “Let’s get lunch while I’m back in town!” 

“I’d love to. Text me. Bye, everyone!” Then he drove off. The group called out their goodbyes. Everyone except for Bokuto who had been struck speechless, a rare occurrence for the loud-mouthed spiker. His mouth ajar, he looked like a baby bird waiting to be fed. Osamu had no food to give him, nor any of the other guys who hadn’t heard they were dating.

As he walked into the hotel to check them in, he heard someone call out, “Osamu, you sly fox! Why didn’t you tell us?” It was either Komori or Gao. Having his head stuck in the clouds, it was hard for him to process who said what as the guys gossiped to each other. 

“Not much to tell,” he mumbled as he checked them in. Seeing Bokuto’s face of awe when he finished at the front desk, he felt a lurch in his stomach. _Jealousy?_ Heat singed his lungs, but he tried to push it aside to focus on the bachelor party with surprising success… for the time being. 

He found he was able to enjoy the day by focusing on the planning aspects, making sure everything was going smoothly, crossing items off his list. He avoided spending too much time analyzing Bokuto and Sakusa’s relationship or wondering whether Atsumu was texting Sunarin when he was looking at his phone. Like at Onigiri Miya, his job was to ensure the happiness of his customers. These were his customers in some respects. So he spent the day toeing the line between participating in the fun and providing service. 

Making the guys drink water to avoid everyone from getting too drunk too fast, ordering the catering, refreshing drinks, ferrying them along to their next location: these were all in his job description. What was not in his job description was getting caught having Hanahaki. 

He had planned for this eventuality. He had watched the movie today and coughed everything up. But having two garden beds, multiple triggers, and a drop-off like the one he just had made maneuvering this step much more difficult. His suppression pills didn’t work quite as well as they used to. He’d built up an immunity to the pills over time. Not to mention, his feelings were stronger and harder to control.

After he had gotten everyone down from the pool and into the suite to change for their next stop -- the private dinner, as they were far too rowdy for the maid cafe and took too much time at the pool -- things became difficult for Osamu. Seeing Atsumu video chat Sunarin, even being forced to talk to him too with Atsumu who drunkenly pulled him into the conversation, only exacerbated his inability to breathe. He still managed to hold his composure, somehow. Where he broke was when he became distracted by Bokuto and Sakusa becoming closer and more affectionate as they were supposed to be getting ready, ultimately ending in Bokuto covering Sakusa in kisses, as he shied away from the touches of others. It was both endearing, perplexing, and nauseating. He, like Keiji, still didn't understand their relationship. 

Osamu excused himself to the balcony to get some fresh air, where he succumbed to his illness and coughed up mostly forget-me-nots into his hand, peppered with a couple of gardenia petals. His first instinct was to swallow them, but he flashed back to the words of warning from his doctor. He was fighting to live as long as he could, so he did the unthinkable. He coughed up flowers with the threat of others seeing him. 

“You okay? You’re out here all alone.” Bokuto stood at the entrance of the balcony. Damn, he thought he had slipped out quietly. 

“Yeah, I just needed some air.” Osamu had let the petals in his hand go just before Bokuto stepped outside. They fluttered around, most of them falling with gravity but the breeze had other plans. It spun them up back onto the ground of the 10th-floor patio. 

“Good. We’re almost all ready!” Bokuto bounced in excitement until his eyes caught sight of what the wind brought up. “What’s that?” He pointed at the blue petals spinning at Osamu’s feet. 

“I don’t know,” Osamu played dumb and stared at Bokuto who stared back. His heart beat fast. “Let’s get going.” 

“Okay.” Bokuto let Osamu push past him, but stared back at the petals before closing the door. Osamu thought he might have to get Aran to cover for him again, but he wasn’t about to call in those types of favors, not at his age, not after all Aran had done for him in his life. Sooner or later, he’d have to own up to his problems. He hoped today would not be that day. 

Fortunately for Osamu, it was not. The rest of the bachelor party went off without a hitch. If by ‘without a hitch’ you meant 3 more drunk video calls to Sunarin, Atsumu constantly yelling “don’t go tellin’ Rin ‘bout this!”, drunken tears through a plate of otoro because tuna “is just so beautiful and delicious”, and a reunion of the MSBY quartet via a live stream of an all too late karaoke performance that had Bokuto’s PR rep calling him… 

-🍙-

 **annoying twin** [14:13]: I feel like shit. What happened yesterday?

 **better twin** [14:15]: Ya had a good time. [attach .mov]

 **annoying twin** [14:19]: From what I remember, I did have a good time. Didn’t I? Thank ya, Samu. 

**better twin** [14:21]: Suna didn’t have a good time tho when ya woke him up. You should apologize for all the calls. 

**annoying twin** [14:25]: He’ll forgive me. I’ve done worse.

-🍙-

As the bullet train pulled out of Tokyo Station, Osamu groaned. This was the worst part. There was a reason he hated trains. Once it got up to speed, he felt mildly better, but his train sickness was always worse as their velocity increased. It was even worse for lower speed trains -- he felt like he was constantly sloshing around. 

Osamu preferred to drive, but the shinkansen couldn’t be beaten for long-range travel. It cut a 7-hour car ride from Tokyo to Hyogo down to 3.5 hours. For a short weekend trip, it didn’t make sense to go with any other option, unfortunately. 

Osamu leaned against the wall of the train feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. Luckily, he had Keiji accompanying him on this trip. 

“I don’t know how you can feel sick on this thing. It runs so smoothly,” his fake boyfriend rubbed his back as he leaned against the wall of the train. 

Osamu felt so queasy he couldn’t get any enjoyment out of the physical contact. He couldn’t even process any Hanahaki feelings. His mind slowly swirled. “It’s worse on lower speed trains. I can’t ride those at all. I still feel it a bit here even though it’s high speed.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you hate them.” Keiji continued to try to assuage the motion sickness with slow circles on Osamu’s back. Osamu only replied with a murmur. 

As the train got up to speed and he became a bit more comfortable, he turned to Keiji, “Thank ya for comin’ with me, by the way. Ya didn’t hafta.” 

“Well, your _boyfriend_ couldn’t miss your dad’s birthday and a chance to meet the family. Plus, the tour of Kita-san’s farm along with a sack of his rice really sweetened the deal.” 

“So it’s all ‘bout the rice, huh? Do I mean nothin’ to ya, Keiji-kun?” 

“Don’t diminish yourself, Osamu-san. You’re an excellent chef.” He wore a half-smile, teasing. 

“Keiji,” Osamu whined. He didn’t get the response he wanted. He only received more back rubs, an acceptable replacement at this point as his body got used to the train movement. Endorphins from the touch finally flooded his brain. 

Osamu was briefly happy and full in between the nausea waning and his Hanahaki symptoms waxing. 

-🍙-

“We’re here.” 

When they arrived at his childhood home, Osamu noticed Keiji’s face. His eyes widened. Being a little outside of a smaller city, his family was able to get a little bit more space than one would in a place like Tokyo. Osamu wouldn’t say he grew up wealthy; he’d describe himself as comfortable. But he knew that wasn’t always how others saw him. 

The entrance to the home had well-manicured landscaping, trees, and bonsai, while his back yard boasted a koi pond, rock garden, and mossy landscape, an excellent meditation retreat, one that the twins never really made use of. It was more of their mother’s respite from their chaos. 

The travelers slipped their shoes off and left their luggage by the front door. They made their way through the house and met the family whose voices they heard in the backroom, which opened out into the garden. Osamu waved at various extended family members in the garden as his mother made her way to him. 

“‘Samu, you look pale. Are you hungover?” She hugged him and put her hand on his head. 

“No, mom. Thanks,” he looked at her indignantly. “Ya know the train doesn’t suit me.” 

“I thought ya woulda grown outta that by now!” She turned to Keiji, “You must be Akaashi-kun. Very nice to meetcha. I've heard so many wonderful things.” 

“Yes,” Keiji bowed. “Thank you for having me.” 

“So formal! I look forward to chattin’ with ya later.” She winked at him as Osamu’s father walked up. 

After another introduction to Keiji, he turned on Osamu. “Osamu, how’s the Tokyo restaurant you finally got up and runnin’?” 

Osamu immediately felt himself get defensive and had to hold back. His prickliness did creep up through his demeanor though, “Well, ya’d know if ya made an effort to come out and see it. Mom came to the grand openin’.” 

“You know work has me travelin’ a lot.” He only had a hint of the Kansai-ben accent, if you were listening for it. Turning to Keiji as if to explain, he said, “I’m a consultant in case he didn’t tell you. Best in the region.” He puffed out his chest. You could almost see a little bit of Atsumu there. Almost. Directing his attention back to Osamu, “You goin’ to get any others goin’ or are you still gettin’ a handle on Tokyo?”

“These things take time, dad.” Osamu crossed his arms. 

“They wouldn’t take time if you had the capital.”

“I told ya before, I don’t need yer money, but thank ya.” 

“Well, you’re almost 30. You should be makin’ a name for yourself in your field. Look at Atsumu--” The Miya mother wrapped her arm around her husband’s. 

“Excellent advice, dad.” Osamu bristled. He was holding back. “Would ya excuse me? I hafta go to the bathroom. Keiji, do ya want me to show ya where it is?” He turned to his guest who was obviously uncomfortable. 

“Thanks, but I’m actually going to grab some food.” He pointed to the table with a buffet of options. 

“Suit yerself.” With that, Osamu retreated to the bathroom to calm down, throw some water on his face, and reapproach how he was going to go about the afternoon. 

_Avoid yer father if possible -- difficult since it’s his birthday. Pivot conversations when necessary. Hold yer temper._ He took a deep breath. 

When he returned to the party, Keiji and his mother were talking alone in a corner. Catching his eye, Osamu raised his eyebrows to question whether he needed saving. His mother was a firecracker -- she was strong-willed and opinionated. She was not for everyone. 

Keiji smiled back and waved as if he was doing fine. Bless his heart for being such a good sport. So Osamu decided to grab some food and it was his turn to be cornered… by Atsumu. 

“Surprised to see ya here,” the blonde said. 

“Well, I know I’d get shit from ‘em if I didn’t show, so I had to come bask in yer shadow,” Osamu responded sarcastically. 

“Oh, shut it.” 

“Whatever,” Osamu rolled his eyes and put some more food on his plate. The one good thing this party had going for it was the food. He inherited his grandmother’s and mother’s abilities to cook. For that, he was grateful. 

“They wouldn’t act that way if ya just took the money.” Atsumu made a face he’d made many times before. The one he tried to make when he was giving advice. Osamu hated it. 

“Ya know I don’t need it, so stop.” Osamu responded sternly. 

“Fine,” Atsumu paused for a moment, deciding where he wanted to take the conversation next. “Can’t believe yer subjectin’ ‘Kaashi to them though.” He looked nervously over at their mother. 

“And let him meet them for the first time at the weddin’? That’d be even crazier. Plus, I’d get even more shit if I showed up without him.” 

“‘Spose so.” They stood silently next to each other munching on inarizushi, their father’s favorite, until Atsumu broke the silence. “I just can’t believe yer datin’ him though. He seems too good for ya.” 

“‘Scuse me? What’s that ‘spose to mean?” Osamu said between mouthfuls of food, looking offended.

“Look at the way he dresses! And he’s got a good job.”

“Fuck you. I dress well. And I run my own business. Plenty of people would say I’m a catch.” 

“Yeah, but he’s like… really fucking pretty.” 

“And I’m not? We’ve got the same face, ya idiot.” Osamu smirked. Keiji was really fucking pretty, he had to admit. He looked at him across the room and let his eyes soak in his beauty. “Are ya jealous? Better not let yer fiance hear ya.” 

“Shut up. I’m not--” Atsumu looked a little flustered. 

It was like speaking of him had summoned him. Suna Rintarou sauntered up to the pair, interrupting their conversation. “Since I’ll be a Miya soon, I want to talk about expanding Onigiri Miya sponsorship opportunities to me and not just the Black Jackals.” He looked at Osamu and smiled. _Oh, shit._ “Why don’t you go bug your cousin, Tsumu? I thought I heard him saying Kageyama’s a better setter than you.” He made a shooing motion with his hand in the direction of the garden. 

“He… what?” Atsumu’s eyes bugged out. He turned on his heel immediately for the garden. 

“Man, he’s easy,” Sunarin smirked. Osamu’s chest hurt. That smirk was one of the things that made his heart pang -- it was one of the first things about Suna that drew him in. 

Osamu was too aware of every thought he had about Sunarin, but the most prominent one to come to mind was how he was actively trying to fall out of love with him. Starting with the fact that he was actively trying to call him Sunarin in his head instead of Rin. Then he remembered the _7 Steps_ and two popped out: Reflect and Think. 

_Romanticizing the person will only have you hung up on them longer._

_Figure out what was so captivating about them in the first place._

As he spoke with Suna, he tried to think of all the reasons he had fallen in love with him, all the reasons he had stayed in love with him, all the things that had changed about him. 

What hadn’t changed? He’d always had terrible taste in food. It’d continued to this day. How that hadn’t been a deal-breaker for him before, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the rose-colored glasses he wore that kept him from really seeing it. He constantly used to eat chuupets and other junk, ruining his appetite for really good food. How he was able to keep in shape was beyond Osamu. On the positive side, he was still incredibly analytical, which propelled his volleyball career and spurred his growth at the EJP. 

But what had changed about him? He used to be just as quiet as Osamu. Atsumu had changed that, had brought out a different side of him. Osamu enjoyed his humor, that would never change, but he’d almost become a little bit more of an asshole, poking more fun, being snarkier than he used to be -- saying what was really on his mind now. Whether that, in particular, came from the confidence he’d gained as he got older or if it was a learned trait from Atsumu, he was uncertain. Sunarin was still as contemplative as he used to be, but he’d come into his own. Only Atsumu could have brought that out of him in the way he was now -- Keiji was right. 

Ultimately, as Osamu thought, he slowly realized the Suna he was talking to wasn’t the Rin he fell in love with. He had grown into someone else, someone different. He came to understand that it was all superficial, all the things that he loved had changed and the things he valued in life now (an appreciation of food, for one) were never there to begin with. 

Osamu had never taken the time to actually think about it or examine it because they hadn’t spent that much time together since graduation -- he’d avoided both Suna and Atsumu, so he wouldn’t get caught hacking up flowers. It was better to admire from afar and stay at a standstill than confront his reality. 

He resented Atsumu for taking so many things in his life -- Rin, his volleyball career, his future, his father’s affection, his success. It left him with a love that festered, that ate away at his self-esteem. It left him in some ways hollow and bitter, avoiding the truth. He wanted what he couldn’t have. But now, he realized that he wasn’t in love with Rin like he thought he was. He was in love with this idealized version of him; he was in love with the idea of being in love with Rin. Now, of all the things he had resented Atsumu for taking, he couldn’t imagine one of them that he actually wanted anymore. 

That was when his love for Sunarin slipped away and his bitterness dissipated. He took a deep breath and could breathe a little easier than before. It was like he threw off a weighted blanket, years of indignation and animosity laid at his feet. 

He looked up from his conversation with Suna, catching eyes with Keiji briefly who was still speaking with his mother. He smiled, relieved. 

This epiphany was only a matter of time. It made sense. Sunarin didn’t invade his thoughts like he used to. His priorities had changed. He _wanted_ to literally, surgically remove him from his heart, so falling out of love with him was not as hard as he had thought it would be. Ever since the forget-me-nots emerged, the gardenias had become less prevalent. Since their last major expulsion, their hold had not taken root. He wasn’t sure whether it was the forget-me-nots themselves taking over or the fact that in his heart he knew he was just holding onto the idea of love itself and not real love for Sunarin. There were so many things about his emotions and flowers he wished he could figure out. 

What he did know was that if Hanakotoba was right, if what Keiji truly believed -- that the flower language truly meant something, then the forget-me-nots told him something that his heart ached for him to know. Not only had he done research on how to get over Suna, but he had followed up on his flowers after Keiji had piqued his interest with those stories. His research told him two things about the flower that inhabited his chest. Not only were they forget-me-nots that symbolized _true love_ , but they were of the particular variety nicknamed “Blue Ball,” just his fucking luck. 

His gaze looked past Suna, who he was now chatting with about his honeymoon plans. This was the longest conversation they had had in years without him running away or getting stuck in his own head thinking about the garden growing in his chest. And yet, here he was seeking out Keiji, wondering where his true love had gone. 

Osamu spotted him with Atsumu, of all people. He had an urge to save him since he spent all that time talking to his mother -- there was only so much chaotic Miya one should be subjected to. He and Suna made their way over to the two of them together. 

Seeing Osamu with Suna clearly troubled Keiji, he didn’t often wear his emotions on his face, but Osamu caught a glimpse of curiosity and maybe a little bit of concern. He assured him by wrapping an arm around Keiji’s waist and kissing him on his cheek, if only because he wanted to. He told himself it was to put up a front for Atsumu, but he was lying. Keiji reciprocated by wrapping his arm back around him and giving him a little squeeze. 

Osamu’s mother flitted around as she ventured further into the garden party. Leaning in before rushing off, she gave him a knowing smile, complimenting him on what a nice young man Keiji was. Keiji’s blush stole Osamu’s words before he could respond. 

“Why dontcha say things like that about Rin, huh?” Atsumu barked after his mom as she darted to the next group. 

As messed up as his family could be, this was all he’d ever wanted. Someone to bear it with him. Even having someone to fake it with him was lifting a huge burden and being an incredible support. 

He looked down at Keiji as they all chuckled at Atsumu together. Making eye contact, he fell deep into pools of emerald. If he wasn’t careful, he’d drown. Luckily, Keiji looked away and he remembered he should probably introduce him to the rest of the family. 

-🍙-

Strolling into their hotel, Osamu turned to Keiji with a grin on his face, “I dunno how ya did it.”

Perplexed, he cocked his head and responded, “Did what?”

“Survived a night with all them.” They got in line to wait to check-in. There was a group of salarymen fresh off the conference the hotel was hosting clogging up the line. 

Keiji let out a small laugh that thumped at Osamu's chest. “I mean, you survived your whole childhood. It wasn’t too hard.” 

“Yeah, and I got out for a reason!” He turned bashful at this point, carding a hand through his hair. “Thank ya for comin’. They can be a handful.” 

“They were friendly. I liked your cousins.” 

“They’re fun. Sometimes a lil’ rough ‘round the edges,” Osamu grunted, crossing his arms, remembering the tussles he and Atsumu used to get into with them when they were kids. 

“And your mom was sweet,” Keiji played with his fingers and looked at the floor with a half-smile on his face. 

“That’s not what most people say ‘bout 'er,” Osamu tried to study his face, but couldn’t get a read. 

“She clearly cares about you very deeply.” When Keiji made eye contact with him, his cheeks burned. 

“Now what exactly did ya talk ‘bout with her?” If Osamu was a cat, he would be dead. Curiosity was getting the best of him. 

“That’s…” And suddenly, they were at the front desk. “...for another time.” He expressed a look of far-off fondness. Osamu wished he could visit wherever Keiji was with him. 

As Osamu checked them in, he turned to his guest, “Dontcha worry. I booked a room with two beds.” He handed Keiji a key as they made their way to the elevator. 

“I don’t think the number of beds ever stopped anyone who wanted to do anything,” Keiji said without any kind of expression as he pocketed the item into his wallet.

“I guess you’re right.” Osamu’s mind wandered to what _anything_ could be. He wanted to entertain the idea of _anything_ in a hotel room with Keiji, but pushed it aside. He’d never do anything that would make him uncomfortable. He was his _fake_ boyfriend and they had already done all the practicing that they needed to by this point to make any interactions with family and friends believable. 

As they settled into their room and got ready for an early morning of harvesting at Kita Farms, Osamu got to see a side of Keiji he hadn’t seen before. It was, in no uncertain terms, _cute_. Hair clips framed his face to keep his precious locks from getting wet as he washed his skin. His pajama bottoms had chibi characters from one of the manga-turned-anime that his company put out, which he paired with a sleeveless tank top, a tight sleeveless tank top.

Osamu couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way the tank top that hugged his muscles. Keiji was a lean man, but he was buff. He’d apparently kept up his figure from volleyball. When he had the time, he didn't know. Normally his sweaters and jackets -- which he so liked to wear -- hid his chest and arms, but now they were on display. As much as he’d always wanted to wrap his arms around Keiji, now he wanted to be wrapped up in them. He wanted to feel what those muscles would feel -- 

“Osamu?” 

“Hmm?” His neck burned. His heart beat erratically. _Had he caught me staring?_

“What time do we have to get up?” Keiji made his way into bed, pulling out his phone to set an alarm. 

“Dontcha worry ‘bout it. I already set an alarm. It’s early though.” 

“Okay. Good night. Sleep well.” 

“Same to ya.” Osamu turned off the lights and slid into his bed. He was aware of every sound in the room as he laid in the darkness. His heartbeat pounded in his head, throbbed in his neck. The distinctive, melancholic sounds of the evening cicada sung, rapidly chirped. The patter of feet in the hallway echoed. The air conditioning hummed. Sheets moved against one another. Breathing slowed as they prepared for sleep.

“Keiji?” Osamu spoke, barely over a whisper. He wasn’t sure why he was whispering. He hadn’t turned off the light that long ago, but it seemed appropriate. Maybe he was a quick sleeper. Some people were like that. His father fell asleep when his head hit the pillow. It was a matter of efficiency, he said. 

“Yes?” Keiji replied softly.

“Thanks again for today. I’m not sure I coulda handled it withoutcha.” He was glad he was already whispering. He wasn’t sure he could have said that any louder. His voice would have trembled. Just admitting it made him feel a little weak. 

“You’re stronger than you think, Osamu,” Keiji murmured back to him. 

“Hmm.” He wasn’t sure what Keiji meant by that. He pulled the covers around him closer. He wasn’t cold; he just wanted the comfort. 

He hoped Keiji was right. He hoped he was strong. Keiji wouldn’t be with him forever. 

-🍙-

Since it was harvesting season and they needed to take advantage of the entire day, they were instructed by Kita-san to be up at the crack of dawn and no later. As they arrived at the farm just after the sun broke on the horizon, Kita Shinsuke gave them a tour of the surprisingly mechanized processes and fertile land. 

“My family has been growin’ rice on this farm for generations -- what used to take the whole family now just takes my dad and me. Some of my earliest memories are of him farmin’ with his dad -- repetition, perseverance, and diligence. While it may seem like it's the machines that ensure the crops come to fruition now, it’s really the sun, pure water, and soil. Our job is to help ‘em along,” Kita explained. 

They looked at fields of golden waves of grain as he described that his plants were so strong because he started with strong seedlings and rich fertilizer. Rice is a moisture-loving crop, a marsh plant that needs standing water. Monitoring the water quality and discharging it on a regular basis were some of Kita’s jobs during the summer, but today his father had drained the paddies to make the rice easier to harvest. It would take a full month to harvest their farm. Then the process of cleaning, bagging, and selling occured; the business side was also the responsibility of farmers now. And then, once all of that was complete, the planting cycle began anew. 

Osamu took notes as Kita showed them how his family used to cut the rice by hand, and then transitioned to the combine harvester, a machine which reaped, threshed, and winnowed, or separated the grain from the chaff. It also could remove pests and store the rice. Then, Kita let them harvest some rice themselves with sickles for the experience. 

Leaning over as they worked, Osamu turned to Kita with sweat on his brow, “Yer really makin’ me work to keep yer contract.” 

“Our rice is well sought after. Smaller buyers like ya need to sweeten the pot.” Kita winked at Keiji when Osamu couldn’t see. 

“Thank you for this experience, Kita-san. It was very informative. I enjoy seeing where my favorite ingredient in onigiri comes from,” Keiji said with a bushel of grain in his arms. Kita nodded at him. 

“I thought yer favorite ingredient was the love I put in!” Osamu huffed in a teasing way. Keiji shook his head as he dropped off the grain in the combine. _I wished he knew how true that love really is._

He squinted up at Keiji, seeing him back away from the machines, silhouetted with the sickle, an odd image of a beautiful reaper flashing in his mind caused him to shiver in the morning sun and cool autumn breeze. Somehow it wasn't the temperature that caused him to shake. 

When they had cleared the area that Kita had set aside for them and took the truck back to the farmhouse for lunch, Keiji turned to Osamu. “Why were you taking notes? I know this was educational, but...” 

“Oh,” Osamu rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout makin’ an Onigiri Miya cookbook.” Keiji raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Kita-san, it’d be great to put a buncha the stuff ya said and more in it. In the very least, talk ‘bout the different types of rice, what’s best for onigiri, how to cook rice proper. Ya know, like yer brand: ‘Chanto’. Whatcha think?” 

“That’s a very good idea, Osamu-kun.” 

“Any chance ya wanna write a part of it? The part ‘bout rice?” Osamu looked like a puppy, expectant and almost begging. 

“I’ll think ‘bout it.” Kita looked somber, weighing the implications. He led them to a table where they had lunch set up. 

“You never mentioned the cookbook to me,” Keiji said to Osamu. 

“It’s just somethin’ I’ve been toyin’ with recently. Just an idea right now,” Osamu looked sheepishly at his lunch, a rare emotion for him. “Maybe ya can help? If ya want. No pressure or anythin’. Like I said, I’m still conceptin’ it. But yer the expert in the space. Writin’, I mean.” At this point, he seemed a little flustered. This wasn’t how he had meant to ask Keiji to help. 

Kita ducked his face to hide a smile and picked at the food his grandmother had made them. He’d let the two of them sort out whatever this was on their own. 

“That sounds like fun. I’ll ask my publisher next time I’m in the office if I’m allowed to consult on outside projects,” Keiji said before digging into his food. “This is delicious. I never get oyakadon anymore.” Keiji talked about how he loved how the chicken broth flavored the rice and the egg yolk made the dish even richer. He had a great appreciation for the dish even more now that he had seen where the rice had come from too. 

“I’ll pass yer kind words onto my grandmother. She made this,” Kita said as he ate every last bit of rice from his plate. 

“If ya want, I’ll make ya some sometime then.” Osamu wiped his mouth, finishing their meal. He thanked Kita for the tour, knowledge and the bags of rice he sent them home with. While it wasn’t the fresh harvest, he would be getting that soon enough. 

As much as Kita wanted to continue putting them to work, the two had a train to catch. Tokyo was calling. Osamu and Keiji made their way back to the station. 

As difficult as this trip had been at times -- dealing with family had not necessarily been easy for Osamu -- he had enjoyed his time away with Keiji. He almost dreaded returning home, and let his emotions slip with a sigh. It wasn’t just that he wanted to stay in Hyogo with him, but it was the journey itself that he had pre-emptive nausea for. 

Keiji caught on quickly. “Don’t worry. You can lean against me on the train if it’ll make you feel better.” 

Osamu thought that it might. 

-🍙-

Leaning over the counter, Keiji stared at the outline Osamu mocked up of the Onigiri Miya Cookbook. He made notes in the margins about the flow and who he thought could input and where. He even wrote his thoughts on the recipes themselves; some Osamu took a little harder than others. (“Whata ya mean I shouldn’t put in a SPAM recipe?”) 

Osamu felt incredibly lucky -- Keiji had come to him earlier that week saying that his publisher had given their blessing. He could take on this outside project because they didn’t have a cooking division, so it wasn’t a breach of contract. As long as it didn’t get in the way of his normal duties at work, he could input in any way he’d like. 

Whether this was an excuse for them to spend more time together, Osamu would never admit it to himself. He had wanted a project to occupy his mind and if it just so happened to incorporate more of Keiji too, who was he to say no? Of course, he wanted a way to bring them closer together. With this, he could test recipes for Keiji, write for him, throw his everything into this book. It would be the perfect distraction, but beyond that, it was something he had always wanted to do. 

Sure, Onigiri Miya was the physical manifestation of his dream, but people couldn’t own his dream, make his dream in their homes. Now he could pass along his knowledge and inspire people, teach them, and share his passion for food. 

With each discussion of the parts of the outline, Osamu’s enthusiasm grew. His speech quickened and his hand movements grew larger. Keiji leaned forward, gaze fixing on him, as he took note of all the passion that spewed from his mouth. A smile tugged at his lips as he bit the tip of his pen in between scrawling words. 

After a page full of notes, Keiji stopped him to review, scooting closer, sliding his notebook so Osamu could see what he had written. Osamu could barely read the chicken-scratch from the editor -- he needed to get even closer to the page, and even then, he had to ask Keiji to decipher. 

Legs and shoulders touching as he pointed out what the notes said, Keiji went through the whole page without pulling away. Osamu let the adrenaline from his touch fuel him. He smiled widely and continued on, gesticulating wildly (which Keiji had to now avoid since he was so close, causing them both to laugh). 

Each time Osamu would get particularly enthusiastic with ideas for a section like different types of special ingredients one should always keep stocked or the perfect way to form an onigiri, Keiji would tilt his head back, nod, or smile. Occasionally, he would interject with a suggestion here or there. 

Osamu was excited that he had this project now. He hadn’t been this enthused about anything since… he couldn’t remember. He was thrilled to open up his Tokyo branch, but it wasn’t like this. Sure, having Kita and Keiji on the project helped, but it was deeper than that. It was sharing his passion with the world. 

On top of that, it brought together two of Keiji’s favorite things: writing and food. In the very least, he liked the way that it made Keiji look at him. Like he saw him in a whole new light. 

-🍙- 

Osamu handed an onigiri to a fan donned in black and gold -- he was on the road again, in some arena or another. He’d lost track at this point in the season. It’d all become routine. He just wanted to get home; being on the road was hard. And yet, when he handed over the onigiri, he took pride from the joy he saw in each of their faces. 

Throughout the stadium, he heard the announcers discussing the players as they prepared for their match. “...and Miya Atsumu, happy birthday to him! He turns 27 on Wednesday!” The crowd roared. 

_Wow, really? It’s already October?_

Then, Osamu’s phone chimed. He only had a chance to look at it sometime later when there was a lull between patrons and as the game got started. 

**fukurodani setter** [15:16]: You didn’t tell me your birthday’s this week. 

**onigiri supplier** [15:48]: How’d ya know? 

**fukurodani setter** [15:49]: I’m streaming the game… the announcers? You and Atsumu have the same birthday??

 **onigiri supplier** [15:51]: (－‸ლ) oh yeah. 

**fukurodani setter** [15:52]: Do you have plans? 

**onigiri supplier** [15:53]: Since we just went down to Hyogo and the wedding’s coming up, I’m off the hook with the family. Especially since it’s on a Wednesday this year. 

**onigiri supplier** [15:54]: It’s not like 27 is a big deal. I wasn’t going to do anything special. Just work.

 **fukurodani setter** [15:56]: I’d be a terrible boyfriend if I didn’t do anything for you. 

**onigiri supplier** [15:57]: I thought ya were my fake boyfriend. 

**fukurodani setter** [15:58]: Semantics. You have plans now. 

**onigiri supplier** [15:59]: ｡◕‿◕｡

-🍙-🍙-🍙- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from the song by mxmtoon (again! Her songs just FIT. it’s like she wrote a hanahaki album). This song actually *really* reminded me of the Osamu and Sunarin conversation in this chapter. I think it's my favorite song fitting chapter titles. Go listen to it, please.
> 
> Sometime in the future, [see Osaaka editing](https://twitter.com/newttxt/status/1298095088535388160) the cookbook... art by Quip! So thanks to them for the inspiration on including Onigiri Miya Cookbook in this fic. I commissioned that piece with literally so little direction and they put it and I thought... YES, THIS. SHIT. Then the whole cookbook that I worked on (which they contributed to!!) that I already mentioned in the last chapter helped inspire what I wrote. Thanks to Meta for that. 
> 
> Yes, there is a forget-me-not named [Blue Ball](https://www.rhs.org.uk/Plants/106186/i-Myosotis-i-Blue-Ball/Details). It was too good to pass up. I’m so sorry (not really). I wanted the flower to be cute and full of true love, but then the irony of this just struck while researching types/colors of FMNs. I died. 
> 
> For the rice research, I would like to thank this [article](https://www.akafuji.co.jp/andjapanrice/english/tradition/01.html) and these two videos ([one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joLWlEd2bPM), [two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mkvszfmahg)) in particular which fueled this section. In the second video, they interviewed a farmer and he was a big inspiration for Kita. I mashed up him and his manga personality.
> 
> Tomorrow will be a day off from posting! You'll get the next and final chapter the day after tomorrow. Get ready for the WEDDING.


	5. i just want to be the one you love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiji and Osamu go to Atsumu and Rin's Wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> osaaka week 2020 -- day seven, tier three 
> 
> I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it -- to be fed so much love I couldn’t take any more. Just once.  
> (From Norweigan Wood by Haruki Murakami)

Osamu was nearly finished closing up his restaurant when Keiji entered holding a brown paper bag. His presence filled Osamu with a sense of calm. This was one of the only times he hadn’t spent his birthday with Atsumu or completely avoided the family and been alone. This day was unique, maybe even special. 

“Happy Birthday,” Keiji held up the bag, shaking it back and forth. 

“Oh, ya didn’t hafta bring me anythin’! Just seein’ ya’s a treat,” Osamu smiled from behind the counter as he finished wiping it down. 

“It’s nothing to write home about. Just a cupcake.” Keiji pulled out a frosted chocolate little cake from the bag. 

“Ya brought me a cupcake? That’s sweet, Keiji.” 

Sheepishly, Keiji replied with a blush, “I made it for you.” 

Osamu’s eyes grew large and his mouth opened. He hustled from behind the bar until he was standing in front of the man with the cupcake presented. “You _made_ me a cupcake?” From the man who didn’t cook, this was a gesture. Osamu placed his palm on his forehead. “Can I eat it?” He eyed the homemade buttercream frosting swirled around the top of the little cake that glinted under the lights of his shop. 

“Save it for after dinner.” Keiji’s chin jutted out, clearly proud to have elicited such a reaction. 

“Not a chance.”

And before Keiji could stop him, Osamu snatched the dessert. Keiji had made it for him after all. He put in the effort for him. He spent time learning a recipe for him. He spent time thinking about him. He did something he was normally averse to and terrible at but persevered… for him. 

Keiji watched in trepidation as Osamu stripped the cupcake down and ate it in a couple of bites. It wasn’t half bad, which with his rose-colored glasses of love meant Osamu relished every bit. “Keiji, this is _so good_.” His face melted with each morsel as he let out little noises of contentment. 

Keiji’s face softened. “Really? I’m glad.” 

“Thank you.” Osamu hugged him, taking in jasmine, coffee, and a new sugary cocoa scent likely from the baking. It was comforting and intoxicating, but at the same time, it made him feel a little bit sad. He knew that he was getting a little too attached to the man. He had begun to treat him as more than friends, but not quite boyfriends. Because… they weren’t. Not really. 

Osamu only had about a month left before the wedding. Once they reached that milestone, they said they would drop this charade, break up. That said, it wasn’t like their ‘break up’ meant they would never talk again, right? _Right?_ He didn’t want to think about it. 

Keiji pulled away from their embrace, “Are you ready for dinner?” 

“I’ve gotta lock up and then I’m ready. Are ya makin’ it for me too?” Osamu smirked, knowing Keiji would never. 

“Of course not. I’m not about to ruin your day. Plus, the cupcake took me long enough. I’ve got a reservation for us.” 

“I woulda eaten whatever ya gave me -- it woulda ruined nothin’. One of these days, I’ll teach ya how to cook proper though if ya want,” Osamu looked down and away, wondering when ‘one of these days’ would be. 

“Sure.” Keiji licked his lips. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.” 

On the way out, Keiji slipped his hand into Osamu’s.

-🍙- 

**onigiri supplier** [17:17]: I haven’t seen ya at the restaurant lately. Everything OK? 

**fukurodani setter** [18:45]: Just really busy with work. 

**onigiri supplier** [18:46]: I can drop off some onigiri for ya. 

**fukurodani setter** [18:59]: I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll see you in Osaka for the wedding next week. 

**onigiri supplier** [19:02]: Ya sure? You’ve gotta be missin’ Kita’s rice by now. 

**fukurodani setter** [19:15]: I’ll be okay. 

Seeing Keiji’s response caused Osamu to hold his breath and hunch over his phone. _How do I respond to that?_ Keiji never turned down food. He wanted to scream at his phone. He wanted to throw it across the room. He wanted to ask someone for relationship advice except this wasn’t a real relationship, so he didn’t know what to do. Instead, he decided to reply with: 

**onigiri supplier** [19:30]: Make sure yer eatin’ well. 

He sighed. He had an amazing birthday with Keiji but was practically ghosted after that. They’d laughed, held hands, felt like a real couple… and then silence. He didn’t come into the shop for lunches or dinners anymore. At first, he didn’t notice, thinking the man was just busy, but then well over a week went by… then two. Now, almost three. 

They texted. Osamu tried to give him his space, but something was _wrong_. 

Did he say something? Was this his way of distancing himself for the upcoming breakup? Or was he actually just busy? Keiji was never _this_ busy. Even before they started fake dating he came in at least once a week if not more. 

His heart pounded. It ached. 

He missed Keiji. 

-🍙- 

Osamu had to head to Osaka for wedding festivities earlier in the week than Keiji could take off work, so for this trip, he didn’t have someone to make the train ride more bearable. His nausea, combined with the emptiness of not having Keiji around, created a pale being that departed the train. His mother quite enjoyed poking fun at him the first evening he arrived.

Fortunately for him, Osamu was a life-long deceiver; he kept his emotions hidden well below the surface. He put on a neutral face for all of the family gatherings, preparations for the rehearsal, and whatever errands everyone needed him to run. He was the go-to bitch boy for the week, and Atsumu was loving every minute of being able to boss him around. 

Everything from running to the konbini and making sure Atsumu’s suit arrived to picking family up from the airport and speaking with wedding vendors was a part of his purview. Micromanaging the catering was not something he expected to be doing, but when Atsumu freaked out at the selection of tuna, he had to step in to keep the number of outbursts from him to a minimum. 

Sunarin had already thanked him for keeping bridezilla-Atsumu from ruining the events. If this had been another time or he had not fully reconciled their relationship, those words may have felt differently. But instead, he gave Sunarin a quick nod and continued with his errands. There was too much to do. 

Osamu walked through the steps of who went where and what happened when with the rest of the wedding party at the rehearsal. The family wasn’t accustomed to this Western-style wedding, but they’d do what they could to appease Atsumu. Despite this, their mother and grandmother understood that a wedding was a wedding, no matter the style. Their eyes glistened with tears. 

When everything was in place for the ceremony, Osamu felt like he could finally take a breath. The week had gone by in a flash, thankfully, with minimal drama, surprisingly, thanks to his efforts. Being kept busy with orders barked from all directions kept his mind distracted from everything but the tasks at hand. 

He laid in his hotel bed realizing that tomorrow he’d see Keiji for the first time in weeks. He pulled a pillow into his chest and curled around it. With a furrowed brow and racing heart, he tossed and turned. Eventually, the darkness pushed him into sleep.

-🍙-

The day had been a whirlwind, but here he stood, next to his brother, waiting for the soon-to-be Miya to walk down the aisle. Atsumu fidgeted in front of him: touching his hair, straightening his boutonnière, twisting his cuff links, rocking on his heels. Osamu patted him on the shoulder of his black suit in an attempt to calm him down, but it did no good. 

As they waited, Osamu scanned the crowd. He spotted Keiji sitting next to Kita. He smiled thinking of their date at the farm. He was also seated next to Washio, who was sitting next to… Bokuto. His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. Jealousy curdled in his stomach at the sight of him. He might have felt better if Sakusa was with him. Where was his brooding boyfriend anyway? Speculating that Keiji was likely talking to Bokuto, potentially alone, before the ceremony left him spiraling into darker thoughts than he knew he had. Was he the reason Keiji hadn't been coming by the shop? 

He watched as Bokuto leaned over Washio to say something to Keiji, who smiled and nodded. He had to close his eyes and breathe deeply through his nose to calm himself down. He inhaled the light the music gave off to clear the dark of the tumultuous storm in his chest. He exhaled the clouds from within, leaving the bright symphony embedded inside. Or he tried, at least. 

The music changed and he opened his eyes to reveal Suna walking down the aisle in a white suit to a classical version of the couple’s favorite song. When he saw Suna, he felt nothing other than genuine happiness for his brother. He no longer felt the bitterness he had been holding on to. He felt relief that he had let this part of his life go. Keiji had helped him let go. 

Keiji. Now, he was a whole other issue he needed to get a handle on. 

-🍙-

The first time Osamu got to greet Keiji in the madness of the wedding was at their reception table. Dressed in a burgundy fitted suit, Keiji looked _good_ , like can’t-say-no-to-taking-a-second-sample-at-the-store good. Osamu could eat him up. He literally wanted to sink his teeth into his shoulder. He couldn’t keep his hands off him, sliding his arm around his waist and kissing him on the lips, lips he hadn’t tasted in months. 

_All for the act_ , he told himself. But he knew he was lying. He indulged himself while he could. It hurt. After he did it, he wished he hadn’t. And yet, he wanted to do it again. After all these years, he had become a glutton for pain. He missed these lips. Would this be the last time he got to kiss them? 

There was an air of standoffishness from Keiji that slowly dissipated with his kiss. 

“I missed you this week,” Osamu said in front of the table. _Actually, this whole month_. They were seated with Atsumu, Suna, Aran, and Kita. 

Keiji looked past him as he said, “I missed you too.” 

Osamu couldn’t ask what was wrong. Not in front of everyone. He kept his arm in place around Keiji’s waist, giving a reassuring squeeze. Whether the squeeze was for Keiji or for himself, he wasn’t sure. Keiji did not reciprocate. He turned to Miyarin, Rintarou, Rin -- Osamu had to figure out what to call him now that he was officially part of the family -- and discussed how beautiful the ceremony was and all of the delicate touches that went into it. 

Since they were a part of the bridal party, they set the example and led the party in opening the buffet. As they got up, various members of the Miya family greeted Keiji with appropriate bows. Some who felt particularly close after the Hyogo weekend gave a hug. One of those came from Osamu’s mother. Osamu stared at the interaction. Perplexing. His mother winked at him, then went to the back of the line. When he gave Keiji a questioning look, he gave a half-smile and moved the line along. 

After grabbing hearty helpings of grilled sweet potatoes, vegetable tempura, grilled swordfish, and fried oysters, Osamu and Keiji sat down with their table to enjoy their fall feast. Food seemed to appease Keiji’s off mood. He hummed and murmured his approval at the dishes, as Osamu leaned over to tell him about his painstaking process of dealing with the catering company. Quiet enough so that Atsumu and Suna didn’t have to hear the tale -- they didn’t need the stress, not today. 

At a certain point, drinks needed replenishing. “I’m going to grab one,” Keiji nodded over to the bar. “Does anyone want anything?” Everyone shook their heads. Atsumu and Rintarou had a private server waiting on them -- their needs were taken care of and the others were good. 

“I’ll go with you,” Osamu stood up with him. 

Before he was able to get Keiji alone for a chat though, they were bombarded with family members. From one group to the next, he and Keiji were shuffled. At some point, Osamu slipped his hand into Keiji’s, squeezing it when his aunt started asking one too many questions about their relationship. After the constant badgering and familial whiplash of defensiveness versus friendships, having to go from being on guard to laughing with close cousins, Osamu was beginning to feel both irritated and drained by the fact that he hadn’t had a minute to talk to Keiji. His mind was clouded with the idea of pulling him aside. When they were finally able to get away, he pulled Keiji close, whispering his thanks into his ear, telling him what a great job he did. Keiji wouldn’t look him in the eyes; instead, he said thanks and dragged him back to their table. 

They spotted Atsumu and Rintarou returning from making rounds. Keij with his tight lips and furrowed brow was about to pull away, but upon sight of the newlyweds instead placed his hands around Osamu’s waist, leaning his chin on the other’s shoulder. Osamu leaned into the touch, closing his eyes briefly and smiling until he realized how confused it left him. Had Keiji not been giving him mixed signals all evening? Was this just part of the role he was playing? He tried to push that out of his mind to focus on the conversation, but the soft sound of Keiji’s voice sang in his ear. Keiji's breath was warm on his neck. The skin on his hips burned where Keiji's hands grabbed him. He felt hot. It was hard to concentrate. 

Standing around the table, they exchanged war stories of their experiences so far. They heard about how that same inquisitive aunt had grabbed Rintarou around the waist to “inspect” him, how an underaged cousin had snuck into the booze and was stumbling around, and that their mother nearly kicked out an uncle for being a little too traditional and unaccepting. The couple mentioned that they were already hounded by calls for grandbabies too, while Osamu shared the location of a volleyball he spotted under one of the tables that they could hit around the dance floor. Keiji thought pictures of volleyball action poses in formal wear would be an interesting addition to Tenma's gallery of reference art. Rintarou did not want Atsumu to rip his suit though -- it was rented, thank you very much. 

In no time at all, they were alerted that it was the hour for wedding speeches. Osamu was to open since they all wanted to be fed with a roast. Of course, he did his best to oblige. He trashed Atsumu with a funny childhood story -- everyone loved hearing about how Osamu had gotten sick to his stomach all over Atsumu when they were about nine years old. All Atsumu could do was cry about how his new shoes were ruined from the vomit. No care for other people. Only pretty things. Atsumu has always liked pretty things, must have been why he fell for Rintarou, a beautiful man. Lucky for Atsumu, Rintarou brought out the best in him, made him care. Unfortunately for Rintarou, they brought out the asshole in each other, but in a good way... You know, the typical wedding drabble. Where the speech got the best of him was when he made eye contact with Keiji -- his skin was still on fire, his mind still a little clouded. He felt a heat creeping up his neck when he found himself referencing _Your Flowers_. 

“Someone important once showed me how lucky ya are to experience love. How ya should take any chance ya get and experience it to the fullest. As insufferable as y’all are,” (many people in the family chortled at this jab while Atsumu grumbled), “I’m glad ya’ve found each other and ya get to do that for the resta yer lives.” This was met with a round of ‘aww’s and whoops from the crowd. “I love ya, ‘Tsumu. Welcome to the family, Rintarou.” 

“Who knew ya could be sucha sap!” Atsumu was blinking away tears as he got up to hug Osamu.

“True love changes ya,” he whispered back. A smile curled up Atsumu’s lips as he clapped his brother on the back. 

When Osamu sat down, Keiji turned to him, quietly remarking, “I was moved by your speech, especially since you seemed to have taken a page out of my favorite movie.” His eyes glistened like dew on a blade of grass. 

Before Osamu could respond, Aran took the mic. “Alright, alright. Ya call that a roast, Osamu? Shameful.” The twins looked a little scared at this remark. He had known them both since they were in middle school and arguably had more dirt on them than anyone else. They shared a tepid glance. 

Osamu fully expected him to have a PowerPoint laid out of every embarrassing moment, detailed photos of their pubescent flaws, and testimonials from previous exes, not that Atsumu or Rintarou had many, if any. All would be fair retribution for everything they had put him through over the years. But he was surprised when Aran kept it light, aside from a few jabs at each of the newlyweds. 

That was, until he veered off-course. Usually accustomed to the high road, Aran had a trick up his sleeve. At the end of his speech, he decided to make an announcement. 

“I’m excited to announce that Sunarin will be joinin’ us on the Tachibana Red Falcons here in Osaka next season.” The room started murmuring. “Oh, wait. Was that a surprise? Well, ya can’t keep a marriage going long distance with EJP in Tokyo and MSBY down here, so I had to pull some strings to bring him to ya, Atsumu-kun.” Atsumu’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped. Rintarou crossed his arms, pressed his lips together, and narrowed his eyes at his so-called friend. Aran raised an eyebrow and enigmatically smiled. Over the hubbub, so only their table could hear, “What! Coach said I could announce it. The news is coming out on Monday anyways.” 

“I wanted to tell him myself!” Rintarou hissed back. Atsumu’s mouth still hung open, slowly panning to look at Rintarou and stared. 

Aran shrugged and away from the mic said, “Y’all wouldn’t’ve preferred the alternative.” At that, Atsumu just laughed and hugged Rintarou. Nothing could bring him down. His infectious mood brought Rintarou back up when his face was covered in kisses. 

Turning to the crowd, Aran announced that it was time for the dance floor to open, starting with the newlyweds. 

Watching Atsumu and Rintarou sway made Osamu want to be closer to Keiji. It made him want to hold him near as the tunes lapped at the shores of their bodies, engulfing them in waves of melodies that droned out everyone else in the room. He leaned forward to rest his chin on Keiji’s shoulder from behind as they watched the couple dance from the table. “They look really happy,” he mused in his date’s ear. 

“Mhm,” Keiji replied, tight-lipped. His shoulders drooped and Osamu’s chin slid slightly. 

The song changed and with it so did the atmosphere -- the two grooms gestured to everyone to join them on the floor. As Osamu’s mother passed them, she tugged Osamu's sleeve, “C’mon!” 

“Care to dance?” Osamu asked Keiji with a nudge and a smile. 

“If you wish,” Keiji stood up, straightening his suit and holding out his hand for Osamu to take. 

Osamu felt his heart rapidly beating at how close they were, how they were touching, how he could feel Keiji’s breath on him. It was electrifying. The tension was palpable between the two of them. Osamu couldn’t take it any longer. 

“Keiji, I --” And then he stopped himself when he looked Keiji in the eyes, frozen and staring, expressionless. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to pour his heart out right there, but he looked away instead before he could embarrass himself. “I have to go to the bathroom.” _Coward._

“Oh, okay.” Keiji’s mouth twisted and he fidgeted with his fingers. “I’m going to go get a drink.” 

On his way to the restroom, Osamu saw Bokuto and Sakusa standing in the corner of the venue having a heated discussion. If he didn’t know Bokuto better, he would have called it an argument, but Bokuto rarely argued. But then again, with his flushed face, narrow eyes, and aggressive posture towards Sakusa’s crossed arms, large sighs, and storming off, he would definitely categorize this as an argument. 

It wasn’t his business though, so he continued on his journey. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he made brief eye contact with Bokuto just as Sakusa pushed past him. Again, it wasn’t his business… but then why did that glance feel like it held so much weight? Why did seeing him of all people fighting with his boyfriend make him feel so much more anxious than it should have? It wasn't any of his business. 

Upon exiting the bathroom, Osamu eyed the bar to see where Keiji had gone, but before he could make much of a search effort, Bokuto bombarded him with a conversation he never thought he would have. 

“Myaa-sam, I know.” His golden eyes caught flickers from the lights of the dance floor. 

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout, Bokkun?” Osamu crossed his arms as he turned to look at the volleyball player. 

“You’re leading Akaashi on. As his friend, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Bokuto clenched his jaw. 

“‘Scuse me? Leadin’ ‘em on?” Osamu narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows, wondering how many volleyballs this guy had taken to the head. 

“I saw your flowers at the bachelor party. Don’t lie to me,” he seethed, lowering his eyebrows and jutting out his chin. Now he really knew this guy took too many hits to the head. Where did he get this logic?

“Ya don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout. Mind yer business,” Osamu stabbed his finger into Bokuto’s shoulder to push him away as he stormed off in the direction of the bar to cool off. 

While he knew Bokuto was only trying to be protective of his best friend, he couldn’t be more wrong. And the fact that it was _him_ trying to lecture Osamu made him even more annoyed. Him of all people. A sour expression boiled up on his flushed face as he tried to wrangle down his emotions. He asked the bartender for water, which he immediately chugged. It wasn't cold enough for his liking, but it flowed down his throat all the same. 

When he turned around, that owl-headed moron was dragging Keiji onto the dance floor. A wave of nausea hit Osamu. This was the whole point. This was why Keiji had agreed to fake date in the first place, for his attention. And now he had it, especially if he and Sakusa were fighting. 

Seeing them sway to the music that he wanted to envelop them caused a tumultuous feeling inside Osamu, a storm swirled as he thought about Bokuto telling Keiji of his flower, about this ruining their friendship and never seeing him again, and about never being rid of his flowers and dying by their roots. 

The idea that death could be knocking soon hadn’t left his mind. Since his visit to the specialist, it had itched inside of him. No one really knew the long term effects of his garden, even the doctors were hazy. He had put aside these constant unknowns for things he could control and the love in front of him, but when he imagined even the hint of that love being pulled away, he started to spiral. He felt dizzy. He needed air. 

His mind swirled as he lumbered outside to get away from the sight of them together, from the reminder that he had helped push them closer. Fresh air. He breathed in, letting it wash over him. It cleansed him of the anxiety he felt. It didn’t purify him completely, but the deep breaths helped. In and out. In and out. 

Taking a seat on the bench, he was alone in the venue’s garden. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up at the moon. He felt like he deserved every negative emotion washing over him -- anxiety, frustration, sadness, anger, jealousy. He broke rule number three; Osamu lied to him. So of course, he deserved to feel all of those things. Of course, he deserved not only those feelings, but this outcome, losing Keiji. He fell in love and never told him his true feelings. He kept the true nature of his new flowers from him. He lied -- bold-faced, bald-faced, or otherwise, it was still a lie. 

He wanted Keiji to be happy too, but right now, he couldn’t help but feel selfish and sad. And that, more than anything, made him even more upset. 

He looked at the flowers around him and felt the irony of the fact that he had ended up in another garden; another garden, outside of the ones that he had grown accustomed to carrying around in his chest. Gardens made him feel trapped.

He balled his hand into a fist, feeling his nails crater into his palms, leaving crescent moon indentations in his skin. He pressed harder trying to push out all his emotions right there. His hand began to tremble. Tears threatened to spill as they welled, pooling with little regard to their restraints. Breathing deeply, his mind wouldn’t clear, not for lack of trying. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and let the moonlight wash over him, bringing some semblance of calm to his mind. He sat that way letting his breath wash over him, indulging in the rustling of leaves as the cool breeze caressed his cheeks. That cool air that he loved so much leaving his skin numb. He relished it, as he always had in the alley. It calmed him. 

The clicking of a door pulled him back to the garden. When he opened his eyes, Keiji was sitting next to him on the bench.

“Hi,” Osamu said softly. It was hard to say. 

“Hi,” Keiji breathed. 

“Thank ya for makin’ it this far with me,” Osamu choked out as Keiji hummed in acknowledgment. “We only have to do this a lil’ bit longer.” They sat in silence for a beat until Osamu summoned up the courage to continue. “I guess we never talked ‘bout an exit strategy. We gotta break up and then you’ll be free to pursue the fruits of our labor, huh.” Osamu could feel the tears welling again. He didn’t dare look at Keiji, instead looking up at the moon. “Maybe we’ll wait a week or so, then we don’t steal ‘Tsumu’s thunder, or I’ll never hear the end of it. Never wanted to ruin his weddin’ or anythin’…” 

Shoulders touching, they sat on the bench staring at the stars together. Osamu tried to blink away his tears while tilting his head away so Keiji couldn’t see. 

But he could. 

Keiji’s fingers inched towards Osamu’s to comfort him. As they met and intertwined, Osamu leaned his head against Keiji’s and sighed. “I’m going to miss this,” he said, turning to face him, foreheads now touching. 

Keiji turned more fully towards him, causing their noses to touch. “Me too.” Their breaths hung there between them until Keiji closed the gap, kissing him as they had done before, for practice, to look affectionate in front of others. Each time, Osamu had fallen into those kisses as if they were real. He wanted them to be real, but this time, it had a different feel to it. It was natural and passionate, as if they were about to lose something, as if they were saying goodbye. This time, it was real. 

As soft as Keiji’s lips were and as much emotion he put into the kiss, it only made it hurt more. A tear rolled out of Osamu’s closed eyes as he imagined never doing this again. He subconsciously squeezed Keiji’s hand when he pulled away, hoping he would come back if he somehow pulled him closer. 

“What if we don’t stop,” Keiji quietly thought out loud. 

“What?” Osamu raised his eyebrows, feeling the cracking of the dried line of his tear on his face as his skin stretched. He hoped Keiji didn’t notice his tears. 

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he mumbled. Red crept up Keiji’s neck. He looked at his hand, still clasped around Osamu’s. 

“But what ‘bout Bokkun?” Osamu searched Keiji’s eyes that wouldn’t look at him. 

“What about him?” Keiji finally locked eyes with him, hand tightening over his. 

“Aren’t ya--?” 

“No,” Keiji’s free hand reached up to cup Osamu’s cheek, wiping where the tear fell. 

“Then what was all of that?” He nodded his head back towards the wedding. “And why’ve ya been avoidin’ me the last few weeks?” 

Keiji caressed his cheek with his thumb, “It’s complicated.” 

Osamu didn’t understand. He searched Keiji’s face for a hint of what he meant. He looked conflicted. Like his own, Keiji’s eyes were heavy with the prospect of tears. Instead of trying to guess, he asked, “What d'ya mean?”

“Tell me, Osamu, how is your garden doing?” Keiji moved the hand from Osamu’s cheek to down his chest. 

Osamu took a deep breath. He felt no hesitation, no rumbling, no familiar rattling in his throat. A gasp escaped his mouth that had fallen open. He hadn’t even noticed that he no longer had a garden to nurture; he was so caught up in everything around him. When had he started neglecting his heart and body? 

In one swift motion, he reached up and grabbed Keiji’s face, kissing him with the passion of a man who knew he was loved. The kiss was bold and unforgiving, open-mouthed, and heavy. They breathed each other in, forgetting their surroundings. Hands roamed from faces to shoulders, from arms to waists. Breathless and wanting, they pulled each other close, held each other like they never wanted to let go. 

“Does that answer your questions?” Keiji asked when they broke apart, lips bruised and aching for more. 

“A couple of ‘em. Not all,” Osamu smirked, wiping his lower lip with his thumb. His heart thrummed. He had questions of his own. How could his body, his head, everything have betrayed him so? He'd had this disease for how many years? And it went away and he just... didn't notice? He was so busy worrying about it, about everything else (Keiji disappearing, the wedding, the cookbook), that he never actually took in his surroundings, took in his triggers or lack thereof, took in himself.

His own stupidity astounded him. He rivaled Atsumu at this point. That fucker actually figured love out though. What the actual fuck?

Keiji explained what Osamu had feared had been partially true. Bokuto wanted to protect him, so he explained everything he “knew” while they danced (which he and Sakusa argued over telling him): Osamu’s flowers at the bachelor party, how he was certain that Osamu was in love with someone else, and that he wanted to make sure Keiji didn’t get hurt. 

When Bokuto described the flowers, Keiji knew they were forget-me-nots. That meant one of two things: his feelings for Suna had changed into those of true love, or he had a new love. There was only one way to find out. 

Keiji told Bokuto he didn’t need his protection and came to test his theory. 

“Based on your reaction, my fears were baseless,” Keiji said. Osamu smiled softly as he nodded. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?” 

“What was I ‘spose to say? I’m in love with two people and neither love me back? Oh, and one of ‘em is ya, Keiji? Not when I knew ya were coughin’ up flowers for someone else!” Osamu retorted. 

“Well, I’m not. Not anymore.” Keiji smiled and squeezed Osamu’s hands. 

“For how long?”

“Hmm… they’d been decreasing since our third date, I think? And you, are you still…” 

“No! The gardenias stopped around my dad’s birthday. The forget-me-nots didn’t stop until,” he paused. He had to think about when the last time he had a coughing spell, the last time his chest truly hurt. It had been weeks? A month now? No, they had also stopped close to the same time, not too long after his dad’s birthday weekend… How could he not have noticed? “My dad’s birthday. What happened?” He recalled Keiji being cagey about the conversation with his mother. 

Keiji recounted the evening. 

_“So yer Akaashi-kun,” Osamu’s mother had some kind of knowing smile, which coupled with their contentious greeting, left Keiji feeling a little nervous. “Ya really are as beautiful as my son says ya are.”_

_If Osamu had said something like this to his mother, Keiji thought it was likely part of the act, trying to sound like a good boyfriend. But one of the rules was no lies: white, bald-faced, or otherwise…_

_“Oh, thank you,” Keiji played with his fingers, an inadvertent blush cropping up on his face._

_“I should be the one thankin’ ya,” her crackless face widened into a large smile. She was as attractive as the twins but much shorter. If Osamu aged like she did, he'd be lucky. Hopefully, cooking wasn't the only thing he gained from her in the long run._

_“Why’s that?” Keiji studied her face. She looked warm, unlike how Osamu had described her. She was a firecracker, an acquired taste, a difficult person, he said. Some might say that might sum up the twins as a whole at times, but she seemed to care for them and that's what mattered._

_“For supportin’ my Osamu all this time. It means a lot for ya to come all the way down here with ‘em too. Ya know, yer the first guy he’s brought to meet the family,” she beamed._

_“Is that so?” Keiji’s eyes grew. He didn’t know that. It made sense; Osamu hadn't been that serious about many of his past partners, always hung up on Sunarin, but he thought he may have at least taken someone home. Why him? Why now? He really didn't have to come. They could have played it off that they weren't that serious._

_She nodded. “Ya know, the way Osamu talks ‘bout ya isn’t the way he’s talked ‘bout any of his past partners either,” the Miya matron continued, bemused, the smile that danced on her lips almost mischievous._

_“Oh?” Keiji wondered what that meant._

_“He told me ‘bout how ya’ve been comin’ to his shop for the past year since he’s set up in Tokyo and how much time ya’ve been spendin’ together and how much it means to ‘em. Somethin’ musta drawn ya there outside of his onigiri,” she nudged him with her elbow, smirk on her face mirroring Atsumu's perfectly._

_In reality, Keiji could not cook worth a damn and Osamu’s onigiri really was that good to warrant so many visits, but he wasn’t about to say that. “He is good company,” he smiled. It wasn’t a lie._

_“He obviously thinks the same of ya,” her nose crinkled as she took a sip of her drink. Keiji wondered if Osamu really talked about him to his mother this much._ _He wondered what she meant by the word ‘obviously’ too. He wondered about a lot of the things she said…_

_“What else did he say about me?” Something about the way her eyes lit up and her lips curled made his stomach drop and his heartbeat quicken. He was excited to hear what she had to say. Since when did he care about what Osamu thought about him? Since when did he care what he had said to his mother?_

_It must have shown on his face too because she reached out and grabbed his arm, leaning in as if to divulge a secret._ _She opened her mouth, but Keiji never found out what it was that Osamu told her, what it was that made Keiji such good company, or what reason he had for bringing his absolutely fake boyfriend to meet his parents in his childhood home -- a meeting that could have definitely waited until the wedding. He never found out because Atsumu walked up and leaned on Keiji’s shoulder. “Mom, what’re ya sayin’ to ‘Kaashi-kun with that crazed look ya always get when yer super excited 'bout somethin'?”_

_“Oh, nothin’. Just mom stuff.” She winked at Keiji and let go of the arm that Atsumu wasn't leaning on before proceeding to change directions with the conversation._

_How odd, Keiji thought. He often had a hard time putting his finger on the Miyas. He so wished to know what she was going to say. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was everything._

_He looked across the room at Osamu who was talking to Suna. Osamu caught his eye and smiled back at him, a handsome smile that illuminated the Miya's garden briefly like a firefly, blazing and bright, but gone in a flash._

Keiji continued after recounting the story to Osamu, “The conversation with your mother made me realize that the way you talked about me with your family was the way I wanted to be spoken about. I wanted to be included in someone else’s family. I had never had that before. No one, not even Bokuto, had spoken about me that way. Hearing what you had been telling her about me -- I was touched. You could’ve easily been cagey or minimal in your answers, but you weren’t. One of our rules was no lies. It’s how I knew everything was real. You could have been minimal about us in our relationship, but you weren't, you went all in... I- I really liked that. It drew me in." He paused, drawing in breath. "That night wasn't when I fell in love with you, but that’s when I knew I’d never again grow another yellow camellia.” 

Osamu waited on bated breath for more, for the rest of the story. He didn’t dare interrupt. Keiji had never been this long-winded. He continued, “I started to notice you. Think about you even more than I already was, which I have to admit, was some." He smiled and Osamu squeezed his hand. "It wasn't love per se, but it was something like it. Then, the cookbook happened. Seeing your passion there… it stirred what I knew to be absolute.” He touched his chest, staring off to remember a fond memory. 

Osamu couldn’t control the smile that stretched across his face. “First of all, dontcha ever tell my mom any of that. We won’t hear the end of it if she thinks she was involved.” Keiji chuckled and nodded. Osamu reached up to cup his cheek, which Keiji nuzzled into. “Secondly, ya knew ya loved me for that long and ya didn’t say anything?” Well over a month, a whole damn month -- longer! -- since they started working on that cookbook. 

Keiji’s eyes watered, “Well, I thought you were still hung up on Suna regardless of how you felt for me. I saw you at the party together and thought the worst.” 

“Oh, it’s not what ya thought.” He squeezed Keiji's hand again in reassurance. 

“I know now.” Keiji turned into Osamu’s palm, kissing it, receiving a stroke to his cheek in return. 

“Ya never told me why ya avoided me over the last several weeks.” He started rubbing circles in Keiji’s leg, who looked down and away. 

Stammering, Keiji replied, “I-, ugh. After realizing I had feelings for you, I didn’t want to face them. I didn’t want to be around another person I loved who loved someone else. It was selfish. I don’t know how you did it all this time.” 

“We’re such idiots,” Osamu said as he closed his eyes. He pulled Keiji in, breaths intermingling before lips met again, soft and chaste. His fingers curled through Keiji’s chocolate brown locks, wanting to cement him there for eternity, lost in the timelessness of the kiss. This felt like home. He could live here forever. 

Osamu began to pepper short, soft pecks along Keiji’s jaw until he reached his ear. “Keiji, I love you,” he whispered. 

His heart ached. His chest hurt, but not in a garden-growing way. _Love._ _So this is what true love feels like_. Seeing a smile on Keiji’s face shot a dart right through his heart. It pounded wildly. He could never get tired of this feeling. He felt full. 

“I love you too.” 

-🍙🦉-

**epilogue: i'll be the key**

“Osamu, what are we going to tell everyone?” Back in the safety of Osamu’s hotel room after the reception had finished and they had gotten in those dances Osamu had wanted, the reality of their situation seemed to hit Keiji. 

“What do ya mean? You wanna tell 'em we were fake datin’ and now we’re not fake anymore?” Osamu cocked his head. 

“Yeah.” 

“Uhhh. Let’s just not say anythin’ and just keep on with our current story.” He sat on the bed next to Keiji, putting his hand on his now real boyfriend's arm to comfort him. 

“WHAT?” Keiji’s eyes bulged. 

“What’re we ‘spose to say? We lied to ya for 6 months, so y’all would get off my back 'bout bein' single and so that ya could have free onigiri and get the ‘in’ on yer ex-teammate and unrequited love?” Osamu made a face, pursing his lips. He knew he was right. How would they explain any of this to anyone? Atsumu would give him so much shit. Abso-fucking-lutely not. No fucking way. He loved Keiji, but he was not taking this bullet. 

“H-HEY! IT WAS NOT LIKE THAT,” Keiji stammered back, crossing his arms. This was the least composed Osamu had seen him. It was adorable. 

“Yeah, _whatever_.” Osamu smirked at Keiji who huffed. He nudged him playfully with his shoulder and smiled, sharing an affectionate look. “We’ll just pretend the fake part never happened. The story will be our little secret, one that we take to our graves.” He intertwined his fingers with Keiji’s, rubbing his thumb across the side of his palm. “It’s not like it's that hard to remember. It’s pretty much the truth, ain’t it? I asked ya out to dinner at my apartment, we ate a lotta good food together, and we fell in love.” He grinned toothily. 

Keiji looked at their fingers and hummed in affirmation, “I guess so. Just with some missing parts.” 

“Mhm.” Osamu leaned in, tucking some hair behind Keiji’s ear, staring into his eyes. They shined like emeralds. Where he previously caught glimpses of moss, lattices of leaves, and hunger waiting to be fulfilled, now he saw the vibrancy of gems, sparkling brightly, flawlessly. Now they were satiated. Now they sparkled for him. 

Osamu got lost in them, searching. He wondered if all of this was real. If what he was seeing was true. If years of love unreturned had culminated in this. But before he could doubt it further, lips came crashing into his to remind him of something. 

He had walked through a door and Keiji was his key. 

-🍙🦉-

_Flash forward 10 years._

“Daddy, how did you and papa fall in love?” Hanako leaned over the meal, oyakodon, that Keiji created for dinner, beaming. 

Oyakodon, a staple in the Akaashi household, was one of Hanako's favorites, but only if Keiji made it. Osamu laughed whenever she complained about his cooking -- the irony being he taught Keiji everything he knew in the kitchen... and that he was literally a professional chef and restauranteur. But it was sweet since Oyakodon, a memory that they had shared together at Kita's farm, one that is literally the "parent-and-child" donburi, could now be shared with their own child, Hanako. 

"What's got ya interested in love, sweetie?" Osamu responded, sharing a knowing glance and a smile across the dinner table with Keiji that their daughter missed. He didn't even know she knew about the concept of love, but having it portrayed in all the media as it was, she was bound to pick up some notions on it. Sure, they said 'I love you' to each other and to her, but 'falling in love,' this was something they had never discussed. 

"We were talking about love in school today. My friends all knew how their parents met. I want to hear your story! How did you fall in love?" She whined and then looked up doe-eyed at the word _love_ , clasping her hands under her chin and leaning on her elbows. Osamu worried that she had taken after Uncle Tsumu in trying to get her way through whining, pouting, and manipulation, particularly through those _looks_ , those cute little faces she makes... like this one. Keiji would argue that some of those tactics weren't beyond either of them (particularly pouting, which Osamu still loves to do), but of course, Osamu still blamed her behavior entirely on the bad influence of Uncle Tsumu. 

“The story ain’t very interestin’, Hanako,” Osamu responded.

“I wanna hear it anyways!”

Keiji smirked. He actually fucking smirked. 

-🍙🦉-🍙🌸🦉-🍙🦉-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE ENNNNNND. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey! Leave me a comment or kudos if you liked it! They warm my heart. This is the longest fic I've ever completed and I spent way too much time on it, but I am honestly really proud of it. It's my favorite thing I've ever written. It was a labor of love and I hope you loved it as much as I do. I’d love it if you left a kudos or comment if you did, or tweeted at me! 
> 
> In caroline polachek’s song ‘door’ where I got the title of the fic, it’s about chasing someone she can never have, running through doors, being met with more doors. or at least that’s my interpretation. so i find it fitting that akaashi is now osamu’s key. he can stop running. 
> 
> If you ever played the video game series Fallout (one of my ALL TIME FAVORITES, I've literally dreamed of roaming the wasteland I've played for so many hours), you know the name of this chapter/ song. It's an old one. you might've heard it on tiktok too - i don't like how it was used there. 
> 
> music was obviously a very important part of this creation. I really vibed to some great songs as I wrote this and made [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/72KT9Ieeoa7DpCqfzcDPQ2?si=NF3j_lz0SSCunyde9BuJew) of the song titles that the chapters were based off of, along with the ones that helped me through writing this. It's got hanahaki imagery, unrequited love, and also just fluffy crush stuff. It's filled with mostly chill indie music. it's not sad. i don't think. haha. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> To clear things up: Why were Bokuto and Sakusa fighting? I know I mentioned that Sakusa thought Bokuto shouldn't say anything, but he thought he should mind his business and not interfere in Keiji’s. He wasn't certain Bokuto had all the facts either. And he wasn’t at the ceremony because he doesn’t like to be around a lot of people all at once. Yanno, germs. 
> 
> OK, Mel asked me how Keiji only made ONE cupcake and this is my answer : he spent all day trying to make these damn things. He burned batches. Then started making them in rounds one at a time. He spent all day trying so hard and he could only produce one good little cake that he felt confident in showing Osamu. That is my answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter: [@elleskandal](www.twitter.com/elleskandal)


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